by Danny Loomis
Brita laughed, then sobered, a steely glint in her eye. “You may be right, unless you and Irish end up in the stockade. If you hadn’t been successful two months ago in your little cowboys and injuns escapade, your heads wouldn’t have been the only ones on the chopping block. I know I chewed both of you new assholes when you did your stunts, but a reminder is in order. I want to make sure it doesn’t happen again without my knowledge. I’d really hate to see you get medical discharges.”
Both of them had become frozen, looking white around their mouths.
“I’m bringing this up because it’s your first mission. I don’t want a repeat performance. Might get folks killed, this time.” She eased up on the glare.
“If you were listening, you notice I didn’t say you couldn’t do harebrained stunts, you just need to clear ’em with me. Got that?”
“Ma’am, yes Ma’am!”
“Right. Let’s get these other two sad sacks headed toward their bunks, and move that way ourselves. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
PLANET ALAMO, FT. WILLIAM HENRY (Day 0):
Twenty-four hours passed in a blur of activity. The squad was given nano-med boosters, an injection which placed cell sized medical robots in the blood stream. They helped guard against disease, and sped up recovery from wounds. This was done in case there wasn’t a medical facility available when needed, especially in the case of the scouts who might be out of touch from support. Heads were shaved to aid in personal hygiene.
Disassembly, assembly, cleaning, and replacement of suspect parts was the order of the day for weapons. All ammo magazines were double checked for the requisite number of rounds. Ian was meticulous with the scope of his Webley. The lens covers, which could be released with the flick of a thumb, tended to wear. Even looking good as new, he replaced them. Front and back lenses were inspected for scratches, and all gasket seals checked.
His Mark III Webley sniper rifle sported a forty centimeter barrel, plus a twelve centimeter muzzle break for noise reduction. The magazine held one hundred slivers of steel five centimeters long and a half centimeter thick. They were magnetically shot out of the barrel at one thousand meters per second. The magazine also held a battery which powered the rifle. In the hands of an expert, its max effective range approached 900 meters and beyond. It was only capable of semi-automatic firing, since it was specifically designed as a sniper rifle.
Next he field stripped his needler. With so few moving parts it didn’t take long. It had a twelve centimeter barrel, and fired a sliver of steel two centimeters long. Each magazine held two hundred rounds, plus the battery which powered the electromagnetohydrine force that accelerated the needle to two hundred fifty meters per second. At those speeds, the needle would penetrate most forms of body armor up to seventy-five meters away, and unprotected flesh out to three hundred. A telescoping stock that folded enabled its owner to use it as a shoulder fired weapon. It was quiet when fired on semi-auto. On full auto, it sounded like a power saw.
Once done, he sealed each weapon in a special storage container, not to be opened until close to their destination.
Everyone inventoried items they would take in their rucksack, to include the long range patrol (LRP) rations. These consisted of two weeks worth of wafers sealed in special pouches. When added to water, the wafer expanded to become a hot meal. These were enriched with vitamins and minerals, ensuring each soldier consumed three thousand calories with two meals a day. After an inspection by the squad leader, their rucksacks were loaded on the attack shuttle alongside pallets holding their weapons and ammo.
At 1800 the squad trooped into the mess hall for their last home cooked meal.
Ian dropped his tray next to Brita’s. “Damn, Sarge, I’m packing twice the ammo I need for a deep recon.”
She cocked an eye at him. “Who said you’d be on recon all the time?”
He reached for the pepper shaker. “You think we might do more than just sneak around and count beans?”
“Irish, we’ve got to plan being on our own for at least one, maybe two weeks. Wouldn’t it be prudent to carry enough ammo to go active if we needed to?”
“Yeah, but aren’t we going to be caching a lot?” he asked.
Brita shrugged. “You can only count on what you’re carrying. The minute you assume anything, is the minute you’ve made an ass out of you and me”. She relented, and gave him a half-smile. “Besides, if we run into a battalion of hostiles I want killed, you’ll have enough firepower to do it.”
“Oh, sure, try and butter me up. Hey, speaking of butter, is that the real stuff I see next to the rolls? And where’d the mess hall come up with genuine meat? I haven’t seen this good a spread before.” Since their food was usually taken from protein vats and processed into bland but nutritious food, the meat and fresh vegetables had everyone’s undivided attention.
Franny had just seated himself in time to hear the last. “That’s right, you haven’t gone on mission with the unit before, have you? The Last Supper is a tradition in the LRS. Our final meal is always the best we can get. Sort of a reminder of home.”
“Boy, oh boy, oh boy,” Pointy mumbled around a mouthful of blood rare steak. “I hope we get a call-up more often. This almost makes the last two days worth it.”
Franny lifted an eyebrow. “You’d better make the most of it, gentlemen. We begin loading once it’s full dark. Oh, and the best part. I just found out we’ll be transported in the corvette Argyle.”
Brita groaned. “Not that bucket of bolts. Last time we used her we had to smell each others armpits for two weeks.”
“This time it’s a luxury cruise. We’re the only passengers on board, rather than the full company it usually carries,” Franny said. “That’ll give us one hundred square meters of living space for the squad. Another positive note is that no officer will join us on the ground to screw things up. Lieutenant Kwan will stay on board the Argyle to collect the data we send him, and guide us from there.”
* * *
At 2000 hours Franny led his squad out of barracks and toward the airfield three kilometers away. Moving out on a mission at full dark was another tradition of the LRS, since most of their work was done at night. With weapons and rucksacks already on board the shuttle, they traveled light.
Twenty minutes later everyone filed onto the attack shuttle. They were joined by Lieutenant Kwan, who’d just finished his last meeting with the Regimental Commander. Warrant Officer Ruska from Intel Section was beside him. Ruska was the best communications specialist in the Regiment.
Even though Argyle was the smallest ship used to transport troops, it was too large to land on a planetary surface, thus the need for an attack shuttle. The same shuttle they would use when they reached Star’s End. A corvette seemed small compared to full-sized battleships and cruisers, but still measured a kilometer long and 200 meters at its widest point. The shuttle would be able to load directly inside a docking bay large enough to hold two of them. The ship’s hull was only three meters of duralloy steel, but the interlocking force screens strengthened them as if ten times that thick.
As Kwan mounted the ramp of the shuttle, he twirled a hand above his head and made a chopping gesture. The ramp began to seal. “Strap ’em in, Staff Sergeant.”
Franny nodded. “Find a seat, people. Secure all loose gear, and make yourselves comfortable.” He followed his own order, and took the rearmost position so he’d be first off.
An overhead speaker crackled to life. “Prepared for launch. At your signal, Lieutenant.”
Kwan reached for the mike next to his seat. “Go.”
The shuttle taxied onto the tarmac, and spooled up its Sterling Air Lifters. It held at the end of the runway until max thrust was established, then sped into liftoff. Once wheels were clear it tilted up eighty degrees and goosed acceleration. Ian sank into his seat as three G’s of thrust weighed him down. Three minutes into the flight the pressure gradually eased, until normal weight returned. Still climbing, the shuttle reach
ed for the seventy thousand foot level.
Once there, it shut down so it could switch over to rockets. Ian bounced against his straps, and felt a momentary twinge of nausea at the sudden weightlessness. Be a shame to lose all that steak. Rockets fired and six G’s felt like a full-grown elephant sat on him. This quickly scaled down to one gravity of pressure, and stayed constant.
An hour later, the rockets cut out and they drifted towards the Argyle. It was shaped like a fat cigar someone had stepped on, with neat clusters of weapons blisters along its flanks. A ten-megajoule primary laser mounted on the underbelly faced forward, and two Capital missile tubes flanked it. The missiles fired from those tubes were the cutting edge of technology in ship killing. Pointed to the rear, a multi-phase graser protected its most vulnerable point, the pair of Bollard-Singh Cherenkov generators. Larger vessels used at least four generators to enable them to move their large masses through multi-dimensional space.
The weapons emplacements down each side were for missile defense and where smaller lasers and missile tubes were mounted. Most of these missiles were defensive in nature. Chaff missiles, beacon missiles which put out the commo signature of a full sized ship, and a limited number of mine-laying missiles.
The attack shuttle approached Argyle’s underbelly, and cargo bay doors slid open. A weak force field held air inside the cargo bay while its doors were open, which made it possible to have the interior exposed to space on a temporary basis. Once inside, the doors closed. Magnetic grapples took hold and the shuttle came to rest. The ship’s crew swarmed over it, tying it down to the deck.
“Up and out, people,” Kwan said. “Follow Staff Sergeant Smith to your new quarters for the next two weeks. We’ll have a preliminary brief after morning chow.” He looked at his watch. “It’s midnight, ship’s time. Seven hours until chow call, so I suggest you catch some sack time.”
Next morning, a soft chime sounded throughout the squad’s quarters. “It is now 0630 hours,” a pleasant feminine voice said. “You have thirty minutes to prepare for breakfast.”
Ian came slowly awake, comfortably buoyed. Three-quarters gravity was an ideal weight in which to sleep.
“Let’s go, children,” Franny said as he walked briskly through the sleep area. “After chow and the morning’s brief, we’ll get a start on the two weeks training I planned for you. Can’t let my Packrats become stale, can I?”
A chorus of growls and quiet swearing met this announcement. Everyone knew Franny loved to push his people to their limits and beyond when he got the chance. His smirk meant he had some nasties planned for everyone.
Breakfast was a pleasant surprise. The food was hot, and made from fresh produce. Even more startling, seconds were offered, and accepted by all.
“I could definitely sign on for an extended cruise if this keeps up,” Pointy enthused, digging into the pile of fried potatoes and ham.
“When you’re only cooking for a handful instead of a hundred it sure makes a difference,” Sergeant Joseph “Blade” Chavez said, another member of Brita’s fire team.
“God, you guys eat enough to choke a horse,” Ian said, polishing off his second helping. “How’ll you do any training after pigging out on a meal like this?”
“Just wait ’til lunch and I’ll show you what piggin’ out really means,” Blade said.
The fifth and newest member of their fire team, Corporal Jesus “J.C.” Romero, dropped down at their table, a cup of coffee in hand. “I hear the Lieutenant is gonna give us brand new orders. We’re actually going to one of the Alliance’s border planets and scout it out for an invasion.”
Pointy shook his head. “you believe everythin’ you hear?”
“No, really guys, one of the sailors on this rust bucket told me the real skinny.”
Brita, who’d been quietly sipping her coffee, spoke up. “J.C., I don’t know one of your rumors that came true since you joined the unit.”
“You just wait, Sarge, this time’s different. We’re really gonna kick some Alliance ass.”
Brita chuckled. “I think we’ll find out just how much hot air you’re filled with when Lieutenant Kwan gives us the story. Until then, I’d suggest you all take it easy on the chow. Staff Sergeant Smith has a full schedule planned for this afternoon, and I’m sure most of you will quickly wish he hadn’t gone for seconds. Oh, and don’t forget, we’ll be moving up to 1.5 gravs for the rest of the trip, except during sleep periods. So drink lots of liquids.” This last announcement was met with heartfelt curses. Training in 1.5 gravities was anything but pleasant.
* * *
Kwan surveyed the squad members entering the briefing room. Good, even the newest members of the squad seemed relaxed. Going into this kind of a mission too pumped up wouldn’t be profitable. Once they were seated and quiet, he began.
“Corporal Romero, I feel it’s my sad duty to inform you that the rumor mill you listened to is once again wrong.” There were some quiet chuckles at that. “The first portion of this brief concerns the solar system we’re going to, the planet, its physical characteristics, and the political make-up of its people. The system is rather barren, with only three planets and one large asteroid belt.” He paused and took a drink of coffee.
“To make up for it, the second planet, Star’s End, is earth-like in its flora. There are three continents. The largest is uninhabited, mostly grasslands and mountains not yet fully explored. On the other side of the planet are the two continents of interest.” A picture sprang up on the wall in front of the squad.
“The southern continent, Vertland, is quite small, only about three thousand klicks long and two thousand wide. Its mid line is on the equator, making for a hot climate. Small outposts are kept by one of the pharmaceutical companies. Several important drugs are derived from the vegetation there. As an example, this is one of two known sources of Juluk in the Confederation.”
Everyone stirred at that. Juluk was one of the drugs necessary for rejuvenation therapy.
“The northern continent, Hibernia, is shaped like an upside down pear, and is where most of the colonists are found. Two large cities are on the eastern seaboard. This is where the political and economic centers are found. Phoenix is the capitol city, and the other is Williamsburg. A major part of the east coast’s industry is in Williamsburg, dealing with the pharmaceuticals and drugs. There’s also a young but thriving communication crystal plant. They grow them here.”
The picture zoomed in on the western side of the continent. “Four thousand kilometers away on the western seaboard is another city, Richland. It has one hundred thousand people. The principal industries are mining, timber and fishing. Large tracts of virgin forest cover most of the land west of the large mountain range which splits the continent in half. Several dozen small towns and villages are scattered up and down the coastline and inland. The coastal range is still geologically dynamic with two active volcanoes. Our area of interest is the Stobol Mining Complex, located here.” He pointed to an area snugged against the western side of the coastal range, halfway up the continent.
“We’ll be conducting recon over a nine hundred square kilometer area. The mines will act as our center point. The Regiment, or in truth two reinforced battalions, will need a secured landing zone, the main reason for doing this recon. Secondarily, we’ll locate and target all concentrations of insurgents we can find. Local militia doesn’t know we’re on our way, nor does anyone else on the planet. That includes Alpha Company, First Battalion, from our regiment. They were sent there on a training mission. Now they’re pulling security at the mines along with a couple battalions of locals, right here.” He tapped a spot on the map.
“Each fire team will be given a zone of responsibility. Staff Sergeant Smith will go with Bravo team, and sweep the largest zone. That will include twenty-five kilometers north, east, and south of the mines. Alpha team will cover the northwest and southwest area, after making contact with the commander of Alpha Company. No one else is to know you’re around, so do
this carefully.”
He turned off the projector. “After you gather any intel they have, follow up on it, then scout the rest of your area. There’s at least one village near each mine head,” he said, facing them. “Be extremely careful not to be seen when you check these, since there are probably some folk who’re friendly to the guerrillas. It could take ten, twelve days to complete this. The Regiment’s due to arrive in two weeks, which leaves you very little flex time.
“That leads us to the second part of our mission. Any and all Alliance military personnel are to be located. Once you’ve accomplished that, sniper teams will be sent to begin trimming them away. This phase of the operation will begin after our task force has made successful land fall and is in position to begin eliminating the enemy, starting with all Alliance personnel.”
Kwan leaned back against the wall. “The rest of Recon Platoon will join up when the Regiment lands. After the sniper missions are completed, your squad will be relieved for the remainder of the campaign.” He made a face as he took another sip of coffee that had grown cold.
“That’s it for now. Additional information is on your briefing cubes, including details about the local wildlife. I understand there are some mean predators around the mines, and I’m not talking about the two-legged kind.”
He looked around. “Any questions? No? Staff Sergeant, they’re all yours.” He strode from the room.
Franny moved to the front. “We’ve been sitting on our butts for two days, people. Time to tune up the bodies. Meet in the cargo bay in ten minutes for some physical training. After a couple hours of that, we’ll see what else I can think up for you to do.”