by Jay Allan
“I’ve got a reinforced battalion coming down at this LZ to support your forces, General.” Mandrake gestured south, toward the landing area. The stubby Liggett landers were still coming in toward the center of the field, with heavier transport sleds setting down on the perimeter. “My people are putting together a com center with an orbital uplink. You’re too far south for conventional ground communications with the primary LZ, but fleetcom will patch you through to General Gilson.”
Tyler nodded. “I am very anxious to speak with the General.” Tyler had recognized a number of names among the Marines landing on Columbia, but there was one famous leatherneck no one had mentioned, a man Tyler had long respected and was anxious to meet. “Is General Cain with the invasion force, Major?”
“I’m afraid not. General Cain is…ah…on another mission.” Mandrake paused for a moment, wondering himself where Cain’s desperate quest had taken him. He knew why the General had gone, and he suspected he would have done the same thing in Cain’s shoes. But many of the Marines landing on Columbia were Cain’s people, and they missed their legendary commander. They would do their duty, no one doubted that, but there was a spark missing, part of what had sustained them through their great battles.
“I’m sorry I won’t have the chance to meet General Cain. He is quite famous on Columbia. He fought here under General Holm during the Third Frontier War, as a sergeant if you can believe that.” Tyler’s eyes flashed behind Mandrake, watching as a lander hit the ground, and the ten Marines onboard leapt out and formed up in an instant. All the stories he’d heard about the Marines seemed to be true.
“Yes, General Cain’s exploits on Columbia have found their way into Marine lore, along with many of his other battles.”
“Is General Holm with the fleet? He is regarded as nothing less than a savior on Columbia. His birthday is a planetwide holiday.”
Mandrake felt his stomach clench. He hadn’t thought about it before, but of course no one on Columbia could have known. “I’m afraid General Holm is dead.” His voice was gentle, touched with his own lingering sadness. “He was killed near the end of the fighting on Armstrong.” Murdered, Mandrake thought, by a psychopath after the battle was over.
Tyler stared back for a moment, silent, his face blank with shock. “That is terrible news, Major.” His voice was a sliver of what it had been, and he stared down at the ground. “Columbia will always be deeply in the General’s debt. He will be sincerely mourned, and he will be remembered on this world as long as men live here.”
Mandrake felt a wave of grief coming on, but he pushed it back. There was work to do, and no time to dwell on what couldn’t be changed. “General Holm would want us to focus on duty and not on him.” He extended an armored hand, gently touching Tyler’s shoulder. “Let’s see to getting these supplies distributed.” He gestured toward the LZ, where large piles of crates were already stacked up, waiting to be moved to wherever they were needed.
“I will organize civilian details at once, so no combat strength is diverted.” Tyler was still in shock, but he was forcing himself back to the present situation.
“It would also be helpful if you can share any intel you have on enemy strength and dispositions.” Mandrake’s voice returned to normal. “I suspect you have considerably more data than we do, and I’m certain General Gilson would find it extremely valuable.”
The prospect of hitting the enemy energized Tyler. “Let’s go to my command post, Major. We have considerable information, and I’m sure it will be very useful to General Gilson.”
The open field was engulfed with great billowing clouds of green steam, spreading out, obscuring the entire plain. The bilious gas was radioactive, and it interfered with most scanning devices. The Shadow Legion soldiers were dug in across the line, but they had never seen a bombardment like this before, and they were uncertain what to expect.
The gas was called Smoke, and only one force used it in combat. Behind its creeping cover, serried ranks of Janissaries formed up for battle, their lines rigid and perfect. They were warriors with as proud and storied a history as the Marines they had fought for so long.
Farooq stood just behind the first wave, wearing the same brown armor as his soldiers. They had been the Caliphate’s elite warriors for a century, and they’d faced the Marines in countless battles throughout occupied space. The two forces had hated each other and fought with unparalleled savagery, with no quarter asked or given. But there had been respect as well, and a grudging acceptance by each that the other was the only military formation that could fight them on anything like equal terms.
Things had changed now, and the Janissaries were outcast, proscribed by the Caliph after they had rebelled, angered by an attempted purge of their senior officers. They had fought alongside their old enemies against the legions of the First Imperium, and by the time that war was won, old foes had become new friends. Now they were ready to fight alongside the Marines again, to help them sweep the Shadow Legions from Columbia.
“First Orta, advance.” Farooq’s voice blared through the com units, and over 1,000 Janissaries advanced as one. They moved swiftly behind the rolling barrage of Smoke, closing the distance to the enemy as quickly as possible.
Farooq stood and watched his vanguard advance into the swirling green mist. “Second Orta, advance.” He snapped out the orders, and the next rank of soldiers marched forward in lockstep, following their brethren onto the Smoke-covered battlefield.
“Third Orta, advance.” Farooq turned and joined the third wave, following the marching soldiers into the heavy clouds.
His people were heading for the enemy’s most important position, a 2 kilometer section of the line covering the main approach to Weston. If the attack succeeded, the Shadow Legion forces would be split in two, and the Janissaries would control high ground that dominated both flanks.
Farooq stepped into the opaque clouds, moving carefully forward. He knew his lines were slowed by their own camouflage system, but that couldn’t be helped. You couldn’t even see your feet in a Smoke cloud, and it wasn’t going to do anyone any good taking a nasty fall in armor.
He could hear the enemy fire up ahead. He knew his display was next to useless – the Smoke obscured the Janissaries’ scanners as effectively as the enemy’s. He wouldn’t know how effective the enemy fire had been until his people emerged from the billowing clouds, right on top of the enemy line.
His people were holding their fire as they advanced. It was a standard Janissary tactic. Their method of war tended toward the theatrical and, coupled with their fearsome reputation, it undermined the morale of their enemies. Unless, of course, they were facing Marines, who tended to ignore the scary show and hold firm despite the Janissaries’ best mind games. Or worse, when they were fighting a group of clones designed to be copies of the Marines, but conditioned to remove all fear and human weakness.
Still, Farooq had ordered the usual tactics. Firing while they advanced would only give away their positions within the rolling clouds, and that would increase their own casualties far more than any damage they could hope to inflict on the entrenched enemy. The best chance was to close as quickly as possible, and to break the line by sheer force.
The Janissaries had their orders, and Farooq couldn’t change them now, even if he wanted to. The Smoke obscured communications as well as scanners. His people would move forward and break the enemy line. Or they would falter and rout. And he knew if his men broke, that would mean that at least half of them were dead already.
He pushed steadily forward. He guessed he was about halfway across the field, which meant his front line was already engaging. His external speakers were picking up heavy fire from farther forward, confirmation that the fight was underway.
He checked his directional display, making sure he wasn’t straying too far inside the thick green clouds. Nothing worked in the Smoke except a basic compass, but that was enough for him to keep his bearings. In another minute or so, he guessed, he’d be
up on the line, three full ortas of his troops pushed forward into the fight. Then it would be a brutal struggle to see who broke first.
“OK, Marines. It looks like the Janissaries are breaking through.” Callahan was crouched behind the edge of the makeshift trench. He’d been following the attack of the Caliphate troops on his display, and he could see they were pushing forward. He could feel them breaking through.
“Prepare to advance.” He turned back toward Paine and White, who were both prone beneath the lip of the trench. “I want you guys to stay back when we go in.” His eyes panned up and down their battered suits of nearly-ancient powered armor.
“With all due respect, sir, we’d prefer to advance with your forces.” There was an edge to White’s voice, not resentment exactly, but it was clear he had no intention of cowering in a trench while the Marines went in.
“I mean no disrespect to your fighting abilities, but you are emissaries from General Tyler, and…”
“Don’t worry about it, Major. General Tyler knows us, and he’d expect us to be in the front line of any attack.” It was Paine this time, and he had the same slightly crazy tone to his voice. Callahan suspected Paine and White were two of Tyler’s best soldiers, and probably his worst discipline problems too.
“As you wish, gentlemen.” They weren’t in Callahan’s line of command anyway, so there was no point in arguing when it was clear he wasn’t going to get anywhere. “But keep your heads down. I don’t want to explain to General Gilson how I got you both killed.”
“Fair enough, sir.” White nodded. “We’ll be careful.”
Callahan returned the nod, but he didn’t feel much better. He had the distinct impression that caution was something in neither man’s skillset.
He glanced back to his display just as his comlink crackled to life. It was Farooq’s voice coming through loud and clear. “Major Callahan, Colonel Venti, the enemy is withdrawing from the central position. You may advance when ready.” The Caliphate commander sounded exhausted. Callahan wasn’t surprised. Farooq had thrown his people at the strongest part of the enemy line, the linchpin of the entire position. It was an unorthodox move, a daring effort to compromise the entire enemy position. It looked like they’d won, but Callahan didn’t even want to guess at their losses.
“All right, Marines. These people may be cheap copies of us, but now it’s time to show them how the real thing fights. All units forward.” He roared the command through the com, doing all he could to rally his Marines and work them into a frenzy. This was the big fight, the most crucial few hours of the entire campaign. If the enemy was driven back, they’d have nowhere to go. The radioactive ruins of Weston lay to the south and the ocean to the north. The enemy could only fall back to the west, but that led into the mountains, a deathtrap for a retreating army.
“Let’s go, boys.” He shouted back to Paine and White, and then he slammed his helmet shut and moved forward. He ran about 20 meters and dove down behind a tiny fold in the ground, dropping low and firing a few times as he scouted out his next piece of cover. His units were zigzagging forward, half of each platoon covering the rest as it advanced. The long-range fire probably wouldn’t cause many casualties, but it would keep the enemy’s heads down while the forward group advanced.
The enemy fire was heavy, but Callahan knew their position was already compromised, with the Janissaries directing fire down on their flanks. His people just had to keep up the pressure, driving forward and taking the ground. Then the enemy would be forced back into the rugged foothills behind their lines.
He could see Paine and White advancing off to his right, moving quickly, completely ignoring his instructions to be cautious. He’d already decided the two had to be a major headache for General Tyler, but now he was realizing they were tremendous warriors as well. He could see they knew their way around a battlefield as well as he did. He just hoped their luck didn’t run out on his watch.
He surged forward to the next cover, a pile of shattered masonry that had once been a small building. It was about 20 meters ahead, and he took a deep breath and ran for it. The fire was getting heavier as his forces closed on the enemy line, and he could see Marines down now. He dove for the cover of the debris and did a combat roll, finishing in a prone position with his rifle at the ready. He could see the enemy trench line now, just visible though the haze and smoke of the battlefield.
He looked up to the right, to the hills in the background. Farooq’s men were there, and as soon as they got set up, they would dominate the ground behind the trenches. If Callahan’s Marines could drive the enemy out of their fortifications, Farooq’s gunners would massacre them on the retreat.
“Keep moving, Marines!” he yelled into the com. “Take those trenches.” He took another breath, hopping over the broken pile of concrete and running forward.
“You have waited for this day, my soldiers. You have bled for it.” Tyler stood on a small rise, looking out at the 1,500 troops he still commanded, the last remnants of Columbia’s once powerful army. “You have seen our people driven from their homes, forced to live like animals in the wilderness. You have seen the dead in the streets, civilians…children.”
He raised his arms in the air. “Well, that ends now!”
The crowd roared, men and women raising their battered rifles into the air and shouting his name. “Tyler!”
“Today we take back our world. Today we begin the final campaign, fighting alongside the Alliance Marines, who have once again come to Columbia to battle an invader.” He looked over toward Mandrake and a small cluster of his officers. “It is an honor and a privilege to serve alongside these men and women, to go into battle with such illustrious veterans and heroes.”
The shouts of the soldiers were becoming louder, and they cheered wildly every time Tyler mentioned the Marines. It was an angry, excited, screaming mob, ready to march into hell itself to drive the Shadow Legions from their world.
“Now, we will take our vengeance, my soldiers. Now, we will make the invaders pay for every centimeter of our world and every drop of Columbian blood that has been spilled.” He waved his arms wildly, working the soldiers into a frenzy. “The orders are attack. Attack, attack, attack. Keep fighting until no enemy lives to breath Columbian air!” He held his own rifle above his head. “Now, to your units, and forward to meet the enemy.”
The soldiers shouted his name again and again. “Tyler, Tyler, Tyler…”
“To your units, and may even God forsake our wretched enemy.” He stood and watched as the ragged soldiers streamed toward their rally points. He’d reorganized his shrunken army into four battalions, and now he watched his troops forming into those newly-designated groups. They were ready for the fight ahead, as ready as any warriors who had ever lived. He knew they would sustain Columbia’s reputation as a world that would not tolerate invaders. Today, the Shadow Legions would curse the day they set foot on Columbian soil.
Tyler stepped down from the hill, walking over toward Mandrake and his command group. “Good luck to all of you.” He extended his hand toward the major.
“And to you, General Tyler, and all of your people.” He grasped the Columbian dictator’s hand. “And may our victory be swift and easy.” He knew it would be neither, but it helped him on some level to imagine it was possible.
Mandrake turned back to his officers. “To your posts. We move out in five minutes.” The cluster of Marines nodded crisply and trotted off to their units.
The Marine battalion would be spearheading the attack. Less than half of Tyler’s troops were armored, and Mandrake had insisted the exhausted Columbian warriors form up behind his fresh Marines. It had taken some convincing, but Tyler finally agreed.
Mandrake had been impressed by Tyler’s strength and tenacity. The Columbian general reminded him of Kara Sanders on Arcadia. The two partisan leaders had the same incredible tenacity, an utter refusal to give up no matter what the odds. Kara had lived through some dark days to see her world liberated
, and Mandrake was determined to see Tyler did as well.
His thoughts drifted back to Arcadia. Kara had made quite an impression on him, and he found himself thinking of her often. He scolded himself when she slipped into his mind, pushing the thoughts back. He didn’t have time for such nonsense now. She was lightyears away, and he had a job to do. Mandrake was a realist. If the Corps was going to defeat the Shadow Legions, not only on Columbia but everywhere, he knew not many of them would survive. His future was more likely death in battle on some colony world than hearth and home with Kara Sanders. But despite his efforts and all his discipline, she kept creeping back into his thoughts.
“All companies report ready to advance, sir.” Lieutenant Grove was his aide, a young officer who’d come up during the struggle with the First Imperium. “And General Tyler reports his forces are also ready.”
Mandrake took a deep breath and looked out toward the assembled formations. He turned slowly and stared back at Grove, uttering a single word.
“Attack.”
Callahan spun around and fired, his shot taking down an enemy trooper about to fire on one of his people. The battle was a confused mess, both sides swirling in and around the bloodsoaked trenches, the attackers pressing their assault with unwavering fortitude, and the defenders refusing to yield a centimeter.
The fighting was down to blades in places, the hyper-thin edges of the deadly knives slicing right through armor and the flesh below. The enemy resistance was toughest right around Callahan, which was why he was there. He’d led three assaults up the narrow trench line, trying to break through, but the enemy troopers held on, throwing them back each time. Losses on both sides were enormous, and the forces remained locked in a bloody fight to the death.
The enemy had tried to reinforce the trench line, but Farooq’s Janissaries had opened fire on the advancing troops, shattering their formations and sending the survivors retreating in a disordered mess.