by Chris Hechtl
It hadn't mattered to the locals much. Their airships didn't land often; they actually docked to masts. She'd been tempted to cut them down as well, and she knew a few had been shot down by her gun crews. But she had resisted ordering them all shot down. They might prove useful later, even if they were used as observation platforms.
“What are you up to,” she murmured as she read the latest report of more ships arriving. Two of them were freighters, which might be more material … or something else. She tapped her chin and then tapped out orders for her people to be on alert.
She clenched her fist. She blamed the Earl for this, his blunder, his inability to defend her and the planet had led to this, her and her people hiding like rats. He'd thought of himself so superior, up on high like a god of space, but he'd been a fool. And really, a captain, junior at that, holding a title of nobility? She shook her head. He'd gotten his apparently, though she wasn't sure about the report that everyone had been caught or run down.
Now though … she'd gotten the feel for Ebensher. She was in a bunker mentality, hunkered down behind her defenses. The defenses were formidable, each firebase had interlocking fields of fire and automated active defenses that could cut down anything that approached on the land or air. Could she tunnel her way in? She frowned thoughtfully. Sappers? Well, she was in a mine … a lead lined mine at that. One that sensors didn't penetrate easily, which was why she was using it. She jotted the idea down for Pauling to look into. The distraction would do him some good and get him off the damn city idea for a while.
<(>~^~<(>
Lieutenant Ebensher ran a hand through her sweat soaked short hair and then scrubbed at her tired aching eyes. She glanced at herself in the silvering mirror and then away; she looked like hell warmed over she thought. Drawn face, baggy bloodshot eyes, bruise on her cheek, quick heal on her chin. But she was grateful, so terribly grateful that someone, anyone was coming in to relieve her. She'd thought she'd wanted the job, dreamed of it, but that dream had become a nightmare when reality had reared its ugly head.
“Captain White Wolf is on the horn for you, Skipper,” Sergeant Snorkle said quietly.
“I'll take it here,” she said, sitting at the battered console. Her chair was something someone had hacked together out of bits. It fit the planet's preoccupation with steamer punk she thought absently as she jacked into the computer and the screen lit up with the captain's face. But something was wrong, and it only took a momentary look at the IFF to see why. “Ma'am? Major? Is that because you are on a ship or ….”
“I was promoted,” the Neowolf replied with a flick of her ears. “What's the situation, Lieutenant?”
“We're holding, ma'am, barely. I'm down to twenty Marine troops and about fifty-eight of the local militia. The rest have fled.”
“The Marines?”
“No, ma'am. Those are walking wounded or lightly injured. Everyone has earned a purple heart here, ma'am, several times over.”
“I see.”
“We're … we're barely holding, ma'am. I keep thinking they'll run us over. Eventually they will,” the young woman whispered. She seemed pathetically grateful, practically in tears. “When are you coming?” she asked, licking her dry lips as she ran a hand through her short hair.
“Soon,” the wolf said soothingly. “Just hang in there.”
“Not soon enough. We're dying down here, ma'am,” the woman said.
“Hold what you've got, Marine, we're coming,” Moira said in a command voice. That made the young woman sit up straight instinctively then suck in a breath as another realization hit her hard.
“Ma'am, to land here is suicide. You'll have to land far away. But they may have every field covered. We can see their radar and lidar instillation, but I don't have the manpower to get to them. I used a drone to kamikaze one a while back, but it made little difference. Every flat stretch is covered, definitely the airfields. A water drop though ….”
“I have my own ideas. Just hunker down and watch,” Major White Wolf replied enigmatically.
“Ma'am?”
“I think it'll be a nice surprise. Make sure all your people get to see it. You won't get a front row seat, but it should still be good.”
“If you say so, ma'am,” the human female replied dubiously. Was the woman planning an orbital strike? They'd tried that. It cleared the enemy out for a brief window … she nodded. “Copy that. We'll be waiting.”
<(>~^~<(>
Major White Wolf examined the problem around the spaceport again. There were three interlocking fire bases left to form a perimeter around the spaceport with twenty able-bodied Marine troops and thirty-eight to forty militia volunteers in each base.
Each base also had a patched together squad of mechs and a battered squadron of drones left. Parts for them and the few remaining vehicles were hard to come by so scavenging was normal. Medical care was almost nonexistent; the Navy doctors on the ships in orbit had to perform triage and treatment any wounded from orbit through the mechs and remotes. The onsite corpsman had been killed. Nearly a third of the survivors had been wounded at one time or another. Many were still walking wounded when Captain, now Major White Wolf, had taken over. Everyone worked every day; sometimes around the clock if things got heated. The troops were exhausted and barely hanging on she thought.
A wounded patient had to be stabilized and survive long enough to get to a base for treatment. If they survived they might be evacuated by shuttle … on a shuttle delivery run. Those were irregular due to the frequent attacks on any aircraft.
One Skyhawk shuttle had crashed recently and was wreckage near the spaceport. Scavenging the wreck from time to time had been a hobby for the Marines and civilians until the Horathians had gotten wise and mined the wreck. Now it was off limits. Another shuttle had reportedly crashed on landing and a third had been shot down by a SAM. They had to make the landings at night under the cover of darkness to keep the enemy guessing and to give the three remaining shuttle crews a chance at survival.
One native nurse and doctor had shown up at Alpha base to lend a hand with the troops a week ago according to the log. Both were overworked and exhausted. The doctor had been a dentist of all things before the Horathians had shown up. He hadn't known much about trauma and emergency medicine, but he'd picked up a lot recently.
The wolf flicked her ears. There was a lot of that going around she thought. She had one Warhawk, the two Skyhawks remaining, plus one civilian shuttle she'd brought in. She could borrow shuttles from the destroyers … if she could guarantee their safety, which she couldn't of course. Oh, how she regretted not having her assault shuttle! She shook her head. But what was done was done. They would have to make do with what they had on hand.
Having a squad of powered armor would be nice too she thought. Not just the one. Her eyes cut to Jethro's status. She frowned thoughtfully as she remembered his boarding of that destroyer. That pack he'd used ….
“Bast,” she said. The A.I. didn't respond. “Come on, you little witch, I know you can hear me,” she growled, keying a text direct to the A.I. and then another to Jethro. Jethro immediately replied and sent a link to a virtual chat. She clicked on it and smiled slightly when his image appeared.
“Yes Cap, I mean, Major?” Jethro said when the change in her header registered. “I um …”
“I was just promoted by Colonel Forth. Get over it.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Jethro replied.
“I need to know about your armor.”
“I can't um, ma'am; it's classified,” he warned.
“I know it's cadre armor so don't get your fur up,” she replied. “I'm not interested in that as much as your flight pack.”
“Ma'am?”
“Can it work in atmo?” she asked.
He blinked at her and then cocked his head. Slowly he nodded. “Yes, ma'am. I'd stick out though. My stealth doesn't work obviously.”
Bast sent him a text. He ignored it, eyes boring into the Major's. He wanted to know what
she intended for him to do. Probably something risky he thought cheerfully.
“You'd be a raven. And at night …,” her wolf smile widened enough to show teeth.
His eyes narrowed, and his pupils slitted. Then he nodded again and flicked his ears. “Yes, ma'am.”
“Good. We're going to strip the Marine compliments from the other ships. We've got more reinforcements coming in a few days. I want to drop everyone at once. So, here's what we're going to do …” she said, laying out her plan.
<(>~^~<(>
“I don't get why they designated us a wild weasel flight. We're not ferrets,” Petty Officer Sanders complained.
“Quit your bitchin’ and keep an eye on the instruments and your side of the bird,” his copilot said mildly, keying the engines. Contrary to everything they had been doing before this, Major wanted them to come down fat, dumb, and happy. Well, not too happy. They were towing a decoy they had rigged behind them on a tow cable.
“I hope this works,” the chief murmured as she made the final turn to line up with the approach to the landing strip. An alarm immediately went off. Then the klaxon of a lidar hit howled.
Sanders didn't hesitate, he kicked the decoy loose then climbed for the sky. “See?” He demanded as he pulled back on the yoke with Chief Mancheta.
“Just shut up and give us more power.”
“SAM!” the PO grunted, seeing the rising missile out of the corner of his eye. Then it exploded in a shower of fireworks. “What the hell?” He turned to look over his shoulder. “I think we're safe. I'm not sure though. Maybe it was a dud?”
“Don't jinx it,” the chief replied.
<(>~^~<(>
The false landing pass by the Warhawk had gotten the Horathian lidar crew and two SAM units to unmask. Jethro had come in behind the shuttle, using her and his energy shields to handle reentry.
Once the lidar and SAMS lit off, he lit off his weapons. He snipered them from the air, which was a new experience. So was the SN-50X with the explosive smart rounds. The first rounds went into the rising missiles and tore them apart like tissue paper. Then he moved to point down. The lethal rain tore apart a lidar truck as well as two squads of infantry with shoulder launched missile pods.
Bast danced a targeting karat around the ground picking out targets for him to engage. Anyone who was out and about at night was a target of his retribution.
“That'll teach them to keep their head down.”
<(>~^~<(>
“Withdraw!” Captain Allegra howled, eyes wide in shock as he waved his people and directed them to get under cover. Whatever was hitting them was either beyond their range or was so stealthy they couldn't see it. He was taking far too many losses, more than the General had allowed for. He ran past a private and scooped up the rifle the terrorized man had dropped. He shoved it into the private's hands and kept going. “They've won this round,” he snarled.
<(>~^~<(>
Lieutenant Ebensher disdained the holographic plot in her command bunker in favor of watching the attack outside. She was careful not to be anywhere a sniper could pick her out, but she couldn't help but stand there with trepidation that slowly turned to a grin as the hunters rapidly became the hunted. “Now that's how it's supposed to be done,” Sergeant Snorkle said with satisfaction.
“Not quite, but close enough,” the lieutenant replied, not taking her eyes off the horizon. She could see an angel above striking down with lightning bolts. The occasional thunderclap of the lightening made her ears shudder, but she just kept smiling, feeling the itch in her eyes. She refused to cry, but some rain would have been appropriate she thought. Tears of heaven for all those who had suffered and fallen she thought. She made a note to personally thank the crews that had performed that magnificent performance. Were still performing it, she thought as she noted another strike.
“Damn, I owe someone a beer,” Snorkle murmured.
“Me too,” Private Bailey murmured.
Trisha nodded, but her implants were putting karats on where the enemy SAM sights were automatically. She fed the data to her map board and her people. They didn't have the artillery range to strike, but they could do other things about them. “Map those fire positions and get a drone over them.”
“You're not afraid of them taking one down, ma'am?” the sergeant asked.
She snorted. “With what they are going through now? They are too busy running for their wretched lives to shoot our drones down. Just make sure their IFF is up-to-date. We don't need or want any friendly fire incidents.”
“No, ma'am.”
“Good. Tell our people not to take your eyes off your screens. They may try something since we're distracted. See if we can get drones in to track their survivors to where they are hiding.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
<(>~^~<(>
“Got ‘em, huh kid?” Captain Joshua Lyon asked as Jethro landed behind the shuttles. The Major had wasted no time after he'd sniped the enemy SAM units. She'd had the other three shuttles on standby in orbit. They had dropped as soon as their window had opened and came down before he had landed. The panther had provided cover for them.
As soon as the troops and gear unloaded, the shuttles started to lift their boarding ramps and taxi for takeoff for the next load.
Jethro took his helmet off, ignoring Bast's protests and flicked his ears at the officer. Joshua chuckled. They had met only briefly in orbit, but they were already becoming friends. The captain had taken a Recon team with him and had arrived with Xavier a short time ago. Somehow he'd managed to convince the brass to allow him to take a pair of Recon squads from Agnosta to Antigua and from there had caught up with Xavier's convoy. They were jetlagged from all the travel but ready and eager to get to work. He wished them all the luck Lady Luck would bless them with. They were going to get a baptism of fire Jethro thought, but he was fairly certain the squads were up for the challenge.
Jethro had been shocked to find out that the captain had briefly served with his ancestor, Tobias. He was proud of the Neocat and his achievements.
“Your grandpapi would be proud kit. Just like him,” the captain said as he waved to his troops to move out. “Come on you apes! You wanna live forever? Get the lead out! We've got the LZ to secure before first light, then we're going to go knock on some doors!” he snarled waving them on to hurry them along.
“Are you real?” a shell shocked and battered private asked, staring at him as he came over from his post. Jethro turned to look at the Marine. His IFF read as Bailey. Jethro nodded, flicking his ears once more. His eyes went to the perimeter and scanned on their own. Bast was obviously not happy about being exposed.
“Come on, move,” Sergeant Snorkle said from behind the private. “Don't mind him, sir; we're all sort of stunned and stuff,” the big husky sergeant said. He had a broad face and squad lifter body. His broad nose seemed flattened and misshaped from too many hits. “Glad you’re here, Gunny,” he said simply as he hustled the gangly private off and back to his post.
The panther watched them go, concerned about PTSD. He didn't have a choice though; they needed every hand for the moment. He made a note to have all the troops counseled and given downtime when they could spare them.
“March to the sounds of the guns,” he murmured, putting his helmet back on. He looked over to his brother-in-law and nodded to the militia troops around the Neoleopard. “Keep your head down and watch each other's ass, and you may survive this,” he said.
Chapter 27
Much to Lieutenant Ebensher's chagrin, Captain Lyon didn't linger in the spaceport. He immediately took his Recon Marines out to form an outer perimeter around the main approach. It was thin, but with the enemy forces in full retreat, they managed to accomplish the objective easily.
Shuttles came down in that window, unloaded rapidly and then did a quick turnaround, sometimes neglecting to pick up the wounded in their haste to get airborne once more. By dawn each shuttle had made three trips down and half of her force was on the g
round and all of the Marine wounded had been transported to the waiting ships in orbit. The troops that landed also didn't linger; they pushed out, filling in the gaps of Captain Lyon's coverage, then taking over so his forces could push out further afield.
Lieutenant Chaing came down on the fifth bird to relieve Lieutenant Ebensher. His shuttle had few other personnel on it; instead he had drones, ammunition, and donks. The donks were borrowed from the Navy and were automated forklifts. They would be needed to shift the cargo from the spaceport to the waiting native trucks to be transported to the firebases.
The lieutenant looked around and nodded to Lieutenant Ebensher. She looked like hell, but she seemed happy. Good for her he thought. “Give ‘em hell, sir,” she said in passing.
“I intend to,” he said, nodding as she boarded his shuttle and took a seat. He snorted and then dodged a donk as it trundled out with a pallet load. It beeped at him so he got out of the way.
“If you could lieutenant, it'd be better if you got clear,” the cargo master said, eying him.
“I'm going, I'm going,” he said. He went over to an old battered air truck and climbed on board. It had been painted in garish camo colors and had been through the wars apparently. He could see dents, dings, bullet holes, and scorching on it. But its lift fans worked to get the plenum skirt inflated. “Why they bother with these things …,” he shook his head. Wheels would have made more sense. Then again, a hovercraft didn't get bogged down by snow, mud, or muck.
“Talley ho!” the driver said in exuberance, waving a hand for them to move out. The lieutenant checked his rifle and sensors then nodded. The truck rumbled to life in a cloud of black smoke and then lurched as it began to move.
As they passed through the suburbs between the spaceport and the nearest firebase, he noted the burned-out vehicles and buildings as well as the bodies. There were a few shell shocked natives about in the dawn light, moving cautiously about looking for … for something he grimaced. The basics most likely: food, water, fuel, whatever. He made a note to try to help the locals. They would serve as his eyes and ears.