by Richard Fox
“Sniper,” Sigmund called out from the lead spot in their diamond formation. An icon appeared on Roy’s HUD, a few hundred yards away in a treetop.
“Friendly,” Digger said and an enhanced pic of a Home Guard soldier with a slouch sitting on a tree bough, long rifle held over his chest, flashed up.
“Must be the right place.” Sigmund veered to one side and they passed over a road. A decayed sign with faded paint sat behind a corroding statue of what looked like a giant bull, yellow flecks still visible in the seams.
They made their way past more Home Guard fighting positions. Roy scanned them, looking for Bailey or any of the others that had rescued him, but he didn’t see any familiar faces.
“Hot-swap point,” Sigmund said, leading them to a single-story building, the remains of a gas station. Behind it was a line of flat-tracked vehicles, where men and women in Atlantic Union field uniforms waved them over.
“Roy!” yelled a woman standing on top of one of the vehicles as she pointed at his cannon-less arm and then to the ground next to her. He walked up to her, turned around, and held his arms out in a T-pose. She hopped down and the top of the vehicle swung up. Robot arms bent out and began pecking at his Armor.
Down the line, the rest of his lance got a similar exam.
“You’re lucky we’ve got a spare arm mount,” the tech said as she looked at a tablet with a wire diagram of his suit. “Actually…it was sort of lucky. We were in Brisbane and one of the Ibarra Corp reps made sure we got a new cannon for you. How’d they know?”
“Does anything about Marc Ibarra surprise you?” Roy asked.
His suit went to emergency power as the maintenance track removed his battery pack. A fully charged pack locked in and his systems spooled back up. He felt whirrs through his pod as the tech installed an arm cannon and ran a new ammo line to the magazines on his back.
“What’s with all the saltwater corrosion in your servos?” the tech asked.
“We went swimming,” Roy said.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” she said, shrugging. A robot arm tipped with an air nozzle blew around his shoulders and waist. “You’re maxed out on cannon and rotary ammo. I don’t have anything for that monster of a rifle you’re carrying. I won’t ask where you got that, but I’ll guess Ibarra. And how the hell did you manage to get stress cracks in your anchor?”
A tall shadow fell across the repair yard and Colonel Carius, in Armor, approached. A black Templar cross was emblazoned on his breastplate and one shoulder, his helm restyled to echo a medieval knight’s. Behind him, three Armor followed, each with an iron-gray heart painted on their chests.
“Telemark,” Carius said, “you’ve been busy. Well done.”
“Pat us on the back later,” Digger said. “What’s happening at the front?”
Carius looked at her for a moment, and Roy worried that the notoriously hard-assed Carius was about to discipline her.
“The situation is fluid,” the colonel said. “Chi-com forces broke through the lines north of Brisbane, but stalled. The destruction of the logistics base at Rockhampton has changed the operational picture for the enemy, and we will seize the—”
“English, mate,” Payne said.
“Yes,” Carius said, “I’ve been speaking to too many fobbits back at the Pentagon. The Chi-com Corps attacking Brisbane has three days of supply on hand…and that is all. The loss of Rockhampton, combined with interdiction efforts all through the South Pacific, have cut off everything east of Darwin. The enemy commander, who we’ve learned is Marshal Shimin, the leader of the Chinese Dragon Armor, is no fool and no coward. He knows his supply lines will not return, and the longer he stays in the fight in Brisbane, the sooner he’ll run out of food, fuel, and ammo. In a few days, his forces will be nothing but scared, starving boys holding empty rifles. So…he’s retreating.”
“Then what the hell are you doing in the outback?” Digger asked. “Why aren’t you at the front running those bastards down?”
“Because we need to let them retreat,” Carius said.
“You what, mate?” Digger pulled away from the repair arms, ripping several from their housings.
“The Australian forces defending Brisbane are bloodied and exhausted,” Carius said. “Every road and highway north of the city is either already damaged or will be destroyed by the retreating Chi-com. If they try and pursue, the effort will be futile. Lives wasted to accomplish nothing. Shimin knows this. I know this. As such, we will give our enemy the cruelest gift of all: hope.”
“You’re luring them into a kill box, aren’t you?” Sigmund said.
“Ah, I see sending you to command and general staff school wasn’t a mistake,” Carius said. “We let the Chi-com run. They have enough fuel on hand to get the bulk of their valuable equipment and better trained soldiers back to the port at Cairns for evacuation, or even to Darwin if we can’t shut down Cairns. And as they run, they’ll be vulnerable.”
“Vulnerable to what? Humidity?” Digger asked.
“The Chi-com maintain effective EMP and anti-air defenses as they move. They’ve learned that lesson the hard way during the course of the war,” Carius said. “But they’re protected only from smart munitions. If we send our close air support in a direct attack, friendly losses will be severe—a lesson we’ve learned. However, the Atlantic Union has developed an…offset attack maneuver.”
“Keep going,” Digger said.
“Semiautonomous munitions. Glide bombs. They’re launched from aircraft well outside the Chi-com’s engagement envelope. The bombs act as cruise missiles initially, then set themselves on a vector to the engagement area and the computer guidance systems eject. A time fuse releases cluster munitions over the targets,” Carius said.
“There’s no way to make sure those munitions hit the enemy,” Sigmund said. “You’d have to know exactly when and where the targets will be, backwards-plan the launch and the flight time, and then…saturate the area.”
“Yes,” Carius nodded, “that’s exactly what we’re doing. When precision effects aren’t available, carpet-bombing will have to do. Five wings of B-99 bombers are in Auckland right now, waiting for orders to launch.”
“That’s why you’ve let the enemy run,” Digger said. “You have to catch them in the open. I don’t care how good your math is, dumb bombs will stray off course. The collateral damage will be incredible.”
“Would be incredible if we used them in a populated area,” Carius said. “Which is why I have every Armor in the Brisbane front with me. We’re going to Miriam Vale. There we will halt the enemy’s retreat, force them into the kill zone, and hold them long enough for the bombing to do most of the work for us. As Armor, we are a natural anvil. The fly-boys will be the hammer. Let them have a bit of glory. They’ll claim all the credit anyway.”
“That…” Digger said, picking up a fallen robot arm and setting it on the track. “…is a decent plan.”
“Glad you agree,” Carius said. “The Home Guard claims to have a number of local guides that can get us into position with minimal chance of being observed.”
“Murphy’s Law,” Sigmund said. “What if the bombers can’t deliver?”
“Then the enemy will fight through us.” Carius beat a fist to his breastplate. “We march in one hour.” He turned and left, the Iron Hearts behind him.
Roy looked down at the tech. “I’m gonna need some more bullets.”
Chapter 18
Roy ran, his Armor stomping into the footprints of a column of Armor stretching out in front of him and disappearing into the sparse trees and brush ahead. Running in the suit was effortless—the machinery did the work—but muscle memory of physical training at Fort Knox in the heat and humidity there elevated his heart rate within the pod.
Unit runs were a staple of the Atlantic Union’s militaries, but an anachronism for Armor. Despite this, some habits died hard in the military.
“In 1934 we took a little trip,” an Armor soldier named Martel,
further up the line of suits, sang out in time with the cadence of their steps, the words carried up and down Carius’ force through IR.
The nearly forty Armor soldiers linked together repeated the words.
“Me and Patton headed down to Mississipp.”
Roy kept up with the running cadence, wondering just how crazy the few Australian Armor must have thought the Union forces were to be engaged in such a hymn before battle.
“We shot our main guns ’til the barrels melted down. Then we grabbed a couple crunchies and went a couple rounds.”
Roy scanned to the column’s right flank, looking for any sign the Chi-com were on the nearly overgrown road running parallel to the main highway where they’d spring the ambush. A length of mountains ran between them and where they intended to bring the battle to the retreating enemy. He felt a twinge of sympathy for the Home Guard scouts that were with the Armor; all were carried on other suits’ shoulders to direct them through the terrain.
The Australians kept calling it “riding Speckie,” which made perfect sense to them.
“Cause we’re mentally able and we’re physically fit.”
Roy smiled as the next line was sent with maximum volume and in full unison.
“And if you ain’t Armor, you ain’t shit!”
“You blokes can be crazy,” Payne said from behind Roy. “Stay in ’Straya long enough and you’ll fit in.”
“Don’t know about that,” Roy said. “I’m afraid to dismount. This suit protects me from the drop bears.”
“Not the big ones out in New South Wales,” Payne said.
“That’s enough enjoyment for one deployment,” Carius sent from the head of the column. “Telemark, Iron Hearts, Uhlans, with me to the forward blocking position. Secondary element stage on the reverse slope. Smoking Snakes have release authority. We are here to make the enemy bleed. To die. Do not forget this.”
Roy kept running as the lance ahead of him broke to the right and made for the mountain slope. The plan was for a classic L-shaped ambush. He and the other units Carius called to his side would take up a position on a hill close to the enemy’s escape route. The rest of the force would come over the mountains and attack from the flank, trapping the Chi-com in a cross fire.
A Home Guard pointed down a ravine and waved Roy forward. Roy stepped into a creek, splashing the soldier and spattering him with mud. He didn’t have time to apologize. His vision tunneled when he saw the hill, and his heart pounded as anticipation tinged with fear grew stronger.
He ran around a decrepit campsite, a ring of rusted-out RVs surrounding a water pump and a small building with a collapsed roof. To the south was a miles-wide valley, flanked by two mountain ranges. Roy was first to the base of a small hill where Carius stood, surrounded by the Iron Hearts on three sides.
“Up,” Carius said, tilting his head to the hill. “Stay low. Stay out of sight.”
“Sir.” Roy nodded, sprinted up the hill, then ducked into a tree-dotted cut toward the top. The rest of the lance filled in behind him, then spread out, putting several yards between them.
“Now what?” Roy asked.
“We hurried up,” Sigmund said. “Now we wait.”
The noon sun heated Roy’s Armor, and he definitely felt for the Levies as mosquitos began swarming out of the underbrush.
“Town’s down that highway,” Digger said. “Should be empty—should be. You saw those RVs? Most Aussies managed to flee the Chi-com when they rolled south from Cairns. Campsites became way stations for refugees. Our Army held the Commies off as long as they could. Good men died to buy civilians time to get away. Not all of them could get out, though.”
“Standard Chi-com tactics to clear out any civilians along their supply lines,” Sigmund said. “Cuts down on spies reporting movement.”
“And what do they do with those people?” Digger asked.
“You know,” Sigmund said, shaking his heavy gauss rifle as bits of mud fell free.
“Levies have been poking around down there since the fight picked up,” Payne said. “They say it’s clear.”
“Now what?” Digger asked. “We sit here long enough, a drone will pick us up. We cleared to engage those?”
“Carius wants weapons on hold unless in self-defense, until he can signal back for the bombers to launch,” Sigmund said.
“There’s no sat link.” Digger tapped the side of her helmet. “How’s he going to do that? Hundreds of Chi-com vehicles should be rolling toward us right now. Think the anchor thumps will get through?”
“Anchor thumps, no,” Sigmund said. “Something less subtle. The Smoking Snakes lance will wait until the main body’s in the kill zone, then use rail guns to hit the forward elements. Sensors in Brisbane will pick up the tremors and send the launch signal to the bombers, who’re all flying circles somewhere over the ocean between Australia and New Zealand right now.”
“Then we have to hope the dumb bombs don’t fall a little north and blow us to hell with the Commies,” Payne said.
“Hope is not a method,” Sigmund said.
“You have a better plan?” Payne asked.
“Pull back.” The lance commander pointed down the hill and then to the mountain range to the west. “Pull back ten minutes after the Snakes rail ’em. That’s when the bombs should land.”
“It’ll all go perfectly,” Digger deadpanned. “I’m sure.”
“There’s no stopping the bombing,” Sigmund said. “The munitions are dumb fire after the first two minutes of flight.”
“So we’re out here as very conspicuous forward observers,” Digger said. “Artillery is the king of battle. Airborne or otherwise.”
“I’m offended by that,” Sigmund said.
“Struth,” she said. “Like it or not.”
“Contact,” an Iron Heart sent through the IR. A pic of a wheeled scout vehicle on the highway beamed to each Telemark, and more pics followed as engineer assets—big trucks with mine-clearing equipment—followed more scout vehicles.
“Scouts,” Sigmund said. “Hold fire. We’re better off letting them pass and baiting in the rest of the force.”
“Listen.” Payne tapped the side of his helm. “Turn up your microphones.”
Roy complied, and a low rumble added to the buzz of insects.
“Engines,” Payne said. “Lots of them.”
“They’re on the way,” Sigmund said. “Priority targets are Dragons.” He tapped the side of his rifle. “Keep them confused and stationary until the Air Force can do most of the work. They gun it, they’ll blow through the kill zone.”
“So we’re forward observers and speed bumps?” Roy asked. “But we remain Armor.”
“Your recruiter lie to you too?” Digger asked.
“Hold,” Sigmund said. A picture of a stopped scout vehicle with tiny helicopters rising from an open hatch popped up on his HUD. “Drones. Go silent.”
Roy shut off his IR and looked up. IR would dissipate in water vapor and had a significantly shortened range in a humid environment, but transmissions could be picked up if a sensor was close enough.
He considered pulling a fallen tree over his Armor, but the movement would be easier to spot from a distance. With the forest around them, remaining still would be their best chance of evading detection.
We’re not meant to hide, Roy thought. We’re meant to destroy, but this is real war. Training days at Knox are over.
A high-pitched whine of a drone rose through the forest. Birds flew away in fear, and a mob of kangaroos bounded past him. A drone lowered through a gap in the trees, hovered, and spun around.
The controller would be looking through a soda straw of a camera feed, Roy knew. He was tempted to swat the machine out of the sky, but would the scout realize what had happened or chalk the loss up to banging into an unseen branch?
The drone floated away and toward Payne. It lowered slightly, then froze. The camera dome on the bottom panned over the Armor several times, then the drone shot up
into the air.
Payne snatched the drone and smashed it against the ground.
“Problem,” he sent out over the IR. “Think we’re compromised.”
“They’re supposed to be in a panic and on the run,” Digger said. “Not cautious and intelligent.”
“Marshal Shimin is no idiot,” Sigmund said. “On your feet. Element of surprise is lost.”
“Good. I was tired of sneaking around,” Digger said. “Undignified.”
“Contact,” Carius broadcast. “Dragons to the south.”
Roy powered up the coils in his gauss rifle. “I’m starting to think Shimin may have anticipated our ambush.”
“You can second-guess Colonel Carius to his face later,” Sigmund said. “Move down the slope and clear a firing position.”
The lance made their way through the trees and over the hilltop. Through the leaves, Roy saw the scout vehicles racing down the highway, the engineer trucks struggling to keep up.
“They were told to gun it,” Roy said. The roar of engines grew louder, and he saw the heat shimmer off the massive convoy to the south.
“Dragons spotted,” Sigmund said, “one hundred twenty degrees, nine hundred meters, houses.”
Roy kicked a tree down and raised the gauss weapon to his shoulder. His optics tapped into the weapon’s barrel and he zoomed in on a small town. Dragons moved between the buildings, never staying in the open for more than a few seconds.
“How many are there?” he asked.
“Enough to shoot,” Digger said and her rifle fired with a zap-crack of electricity. A building exploded, the roof sent flying straight up. “Oh, I like these.”
Roy spotted a scout vehicle, half-hidden by a wall, and he saw a turret ball aiming right at him. A warning popped onto his HUD.
LASER. LASER.
“Spotter. Spotter!” Roy fired his gauss rifle and it kicked like a mule against his shoulder. The impact rattled him in his pod, and he took a second to recover. The scout vehicle was a smoking wreck. Flaming tires rolled down the highway.