Conflict: The Pythan War, Invasion

by DK Williamson

  The colonel had notified the lancers we were back in the game and it was time for Freya to start throwing punches and finish the fight. The lancers bought us the opportunity at a cost, and that fact was in the back of our minds as we went to work.

  The Pythan cruiser was making a wide turn to starboard, trying to flee, running for the nav gate. Insanity. The tail end of nearly any vehicle is its weak point and her commander was pointing the crate’s ass right at us.

  Maybe he thought he had the time and distance to make it to the nav gate. Maybe they were dealing with a problem of their own. It didn’t matter to us, our job was to kill it and we were trying our best to do just that. The smaller Pythan vehicles were trying to screen the cruiser, but the surviving lancers were on them and Freya was about to sow death.

  I targeted a flight of kinetic kill missiles on the engines of the cruiser and let them fly. Nothing fancy, just a straight shot at the Pythan vehicle, like unleashing hounds on game. The other two targeteers did the same, one of them going wide with his flight’s course to make it tough on the defense crews. I waited a few seconds and followed with nukes. By the time they got there, the cruiser would have lost its engines and had its aft end chewed into wreckage. The nukes would drive deep and unleash hell in there. This fight was all but over.

  I directed my teammates to target the other Pythan vehicles while I monitored our four flights of missiles closing on the Pythan heavy. It was doomed and the battle was ours.

  After the nukes did their job, we closed on the cruiser and the other wrecked vehicles, or what was left of them. Sensors and scans showed the cruiser was all but dead. Some localized power sources, but nothing else. There were likely survivors in there, but we weren’t going to try and rescue anyone except our people.

  The lancers paid a frightful cost, there were escape pods and crew seats everywhere, plus crew trapped inside broken and ripped hulls tumbling through space. The colonel said we weren’t leaving until we recovered everyone left alive. The two Space Forces Search and Rescue Tugs we had available did yeoman service. It took hours, but we saved all we could. Then we limped away.

  The colonel got LTC Lawles on the coms and thanked him and his people for their work.

  “How do you feel about miracles now, Ted?”

  “I still don’t believe in them, sir. I do believe in those good folks in the Goliad and the lancers though. They won’t ever have to buy drinks if I am in the same bar at the same time as any of them.”

  I think nearly all of us felt the same way.

  We stayed in the system for a short while, watching the nav lanes from Tusk and Lazarus while a lancer electronic warfare vehicle, a pair of lancer missile carriers, and defense lancers performed some sort of mission over Elspeth. It was only a matter of time before the Pythans mounted a response to our incursion, and we intended to be gone by the time they arrived.

  Once the small force had accomplished its task, we left. We had accomplished our mission. We’d been battered and bloodied and gave better than we got, but it felt as if we were skulking away. We had lost crewmates and the lancers had suffered far worse than us. Some might say it was a good trade, a few lancers for three Pythan heavies, but they’d be wrong. To me it felt like we had left unfinished business behind us, and I suppose we did. Until Elspeth and all the other worlds under Pythan occupation were freed, it was unfinished.

  -(o)-

  Interlude

  The neural interface was a relatively new development in Coalition space. The technology had only been around for a little over three decades, and used by the Coalition forces for a bit over two thirds of that time.

  Within Land Forces, the most common user of the neural interface was the Neural Interface Tactical Specialist, or NITS. Excelling in roles where rapid data processing or multitasking were key, the NITS was versatile and capable, but such abilities came at a cost.

  The body modifications required to use a neural interface were extensive, and came with considerable physical trauma. Over time these traumas would lead to a degradation of the NITS abilities, ultimately leading to the complete loss of what made them special.

  . . .

  Wrong in the Head

  “Neural Interface Tactical Specialists report for briefing,” the loudspeakers blared in troop bays throughout the CFSSF Stewart TT-14 Troop Transport.

  The Stewart was part of an attack force whose aim was to retake Creech, a Coalition world in the Adams system. An attack led by three infantry divisions, the ground assault hoped to overwhelm Pythan forces on Creech before Pythans elsewhere could respond with reinforcements.

  The Stewart carried members of the 9th Division (Infantry), specifically the 21st Regiment of the 9th’s First Brigade. Each battalion within 9th Division was assigned one Neural Interface Tactical Specialist, something new for the division.

  While Neural Interface Tactical Specialists were nothing new to Land Forces, they were still largely an unknown, cloaked in mystery, and rumors abounded as to their purpose and capability.

  Many of those rumors, along with novels and cinematics, made NITS out to be superhuman, with extraordinary speed or strength, hyperintelligence, psychic or telekinetic powers, and more. Some said they were cyberbeings, part human, part machine, while others said they were robots designed to mimic humans.

  The truth was far less fantastical.

  The Neural Interface System was an exodermal mesh that covered portions of the body, primarily from the top of the skull, down the neck and back, to the pelvic region. This mesh, when linked to sensites implanted in the spinal cord, brain stem, forebrain, and cerebrum, allowed a specialist to interface with various specialized pieces of equipment and process information at a much faster rate than unaugmented humans.

  Very few human beings were capable of becoming a NITS, and even fewer were willing to go through the numerous procedures and training regimens necessary.

  -(o)-

  Captain Lucas Harper was the last of the NITS to arrive for the briefing, having the farthest to travel through the crowded and cramped transport.

  Already in the room was First Lieutenant Merriam Weathers and Second Lieutenant George Tanaka, Harper’s fellow NITS, plus the three battalion commanders to whom the NITS would answer, and Major Roger Lopez, a former NITS who oversaw the use and operations of the NITS within the 21st Regiment.

  Lopez stood in front of the other six people in the room, conducting the meeting.

  Lopez was of average height with graying eyebrows, and like all NITS, he was bald. His head shined with swirling scars that merged with one another to form a strange and fascinating pattern, the result of scarification from more than two decades of neural interface use. Skull ridges pushed up the scarred skin, caused by reactions to the sensites that protruded from the brain through the skull, making Lopez seem almost alien. Mesh rot, mesh burn, and sensite overload had taken their toll on Lopez, a toll that numerous reconstructive surgeries had yet to mask, and likely never would.

  “We are here to coordinate the needs of your battalions with the capabilities and specialized abilities NITS bring to the battlefield. Have you read through the briefing materials?” Lopez said, looking at the battalion commanders.

  All three nodded.

  “Do you have any questions?” Lopez asked.

  “Yes,” answered one of the commanders, his nametape read LYONS. “We have discussed this among ourselves along with the regimental commander. Our regiment is tasked with sweeping around the eastern side of Fitzroy. Our area of operations is mostly low population housing and light industrial areas and there will undoubtedly be Coalition citizens within the area. We are concerned about collateral damage and casualties among the civilian populace.”

  Lopez nodded.

  “Your briefing materials made it clear your specialists can target and call for precision ordnance with greater efficiency than our own artillery and air coordinators. Is this correct?”

  “Yes, sir, it is,” Lopez replied.
/>   “Then we would like your troops to augment our own artillery and air strike coordination.”

  “You got it, sir. Each NITS will get with your arty folks and work out where you want them to fit in.”

  The battalion commanders spoke at length with Lopez and the three NITS about specifics on what they were capable of doing, what missions they would be expected to perform and other details. Once they understood one another, the battalion commanders left, with plans to discuss things further over the next few days.

  “You know what you have to do?” Lopez asked.

  All three NITS nodded.

  “I’m a little relieved,” Tanaka said. “I thought they might have wanted us for more direct action. I wasn’t looking forward to that on my first exposure to combat.”

  Lopez smiled in understanding, but his eyes showed there was no joy in it. “It won’t be any easier, ever. No matter how many times you do it, it’ll never be easier.”

  “It might even get harder,” Harper said.

  “Great, now you tell us,” Weathers said with a smile on her face. “Is it too late to quit?”

  “Afraid so,” Lopez replied, returning the smile, genuine this time. “Go and talk with the arty coordinators. We’ll go over this again before game time.”

  As the three of them started to leave, Lopez asked Harper to stay.

  “What is it, Roger?” Harper asked as the other two NITS left the room.

  “Harps, I looked over the data from your last test run before you deployed.”

  “Sensite overload. That’s what you want to talk about.”

  “That’s right. What happened?”

  “I pushed to the limit and beyond. I wanted to see if I am declining.”

  “What do you think?”

  Harper shook his head. “I don’t know for sure, but I think I am at the start of the downside.”

  “The data looks good. No sign of degradation. You’re still at the peak.”

  “Yes, but you know that once you’re over the top there is a chance it all goes. You know it better than anybody.”

  “Sure I do. But a sudden and complete loss of linkage to your interface is very rare. Ninety percent of the time it’s incremental and very slow.”

  Harper gestured with his hands. “I know the numbers, Roger. I just have an irrational fear I’ll follow in your footsteps and it’ll go at once in the middle of a mission.”

  “As long as you know it’s irrational, Lucas. You’re the most talented NITS I’ve seen. Stop worrying. The odds are in your favor, so stop assuming it’s going to go that way for you.”

  -(o)-

  The following days would find the NITS familiarizing themselves with the battalion missions and integrating with their units.

  Harper received assignment to the 21st Regiment’s First Battalion, initially slated to be the reserve battalion. Their mission required them to be flexible, to exploit opportunities if they presented themselves, or reinforce if things went poorly. Lopez felt Harper’s greater experience and flexibility would lend itself best in that role.

  By the time the 9th Division was ready to take part in the liberation of Creech, the 21st Regiment’s NITS were ready as well.

  The 1st Division (Infantry) was the first to attack. Dropping right in the face of Pythan forces in the city of Fitzroy, their task was to tie up as much of the enemy as possible while forcing their way into the heart of the city. The 9th Division would drop on the 1st’s right and push to encircle the city while the 3rd Division (Infantry) would mirror the 9th’s action on the 1st Division’s left.

  Harper would be going planetside with a platoon of infantry aboard the Troop Landing Craft TLC-A691 Live from the Big Black.

  As soon as the troops were aboard and secured, the headsets of everyone on board hissed as the pilot came on the platoon net.

  “I’m Captain Sheila Waters. Welcome aboard… what are we hauling anyway, supply guys?” the pilot said in a cheery voice. The troops could sense the smile on her face.

  The cursing and insults that followed died down quickly.

  “We’ll get you where you need to go, First Platoon. Proud to have you aboard,” Waters said.

  Less than half an hour later, the Big Black was en route to Creech.

  The 1st Division had attacked ninety minutes ahead of the other two divisions. Planners were confident that most of the air defenses would be neutralized by the time the 3rd and 9th hit the ground. Harper, and most of the troops through both divisions knew better than to count on such assumptions.

  The Big Black made the transition from space to atmosphere without difficulty, but once in the atmosphere was when the truly hazardous part of the flight commenced.

  While the Pythans groundside lacked atmospheric fighters or other air-to-air weaponry, they did possess ground-to-air missiles and artillery.

  The sound of countermeasures launching from their dispensers was audible in the troop bay, and joining this came the sound of servos humming and whining as the defensive beam guns rotated.

  We’ve got antiaircraft missiles coming for us, Harper thought, understanding the situation by the sounds.

  The landing craft shook as a loud bang came from the port side. The soldiers in the troop bay cursed as the craft felt like it was wallowing out of control.

  “We’re hit. Hold on, First Platoon,” the copilot said with some effort.

  The thrusters came up, loud inside the troop bay, as if the pilot had them at full thrust. The landing craft shuddered and creaked, and to most of those aboard it felt as if the craft was spinning slowly.

  The thrusters quieted, but the shuddering remained.

  “It looks like I lied to you, First Platoon,” the pilot said in a calm but strained voice over the platoon net. “We’re not landing where we intended. We’ve lost an airfoil and are descending using the thrusters so I can’t get you where you need to go, but we’ll get you down. You’ll be a little late for the party, but you’ll make it before it’s over.”

  The landing craft shuddered for a few more minutes as they continued their descent, then the copilot came over the headsets.

  “Prepare for landing, First Platoon.”

  Thirty seconds later, he came on again.

  “Here we go, First Platoon. Stay in your seats once we’re down. This isn’t a combat landing. We are well away from Fitzroy.”

  The thrusters came up again and the shuddering increased, but when the landing craft touched down the soldiers aboard barely felt it.

  Harper smiled, a small and unseen acknowledgement of the pilot’s skill.

  A few seconds later, the thrusters shut off and the ramp lowered. A liquid, whooshing noise could be heard from outside.

  “We are down,” the copilot said. “We’re spraying fire retardant, so stay seated.”

  “Crew chief, visually check our condition,” the pilot said.

  A Space Forces sergeant standing near the ramp exited the craft.

  “Blame the damned attack pilots for not taking down all of the Pythan air defenses,” the copilot said.

  “Captain, Sergeant Cosby here,” the crew chief said over the net a minute later. “Other than a missing airfoil and a few extra holes, things look all right. No fire, but we won’t be going anywhere for awhile.”

  “Roger that, chief,” the pilot replied. “First Platoon, Land Forces has transport on the way, but it’ll be a little while. Bring out the cribbage boards if you got’em.”

  The troops left Big Black with their gear, moving down the ramp, past the heat shields that deflected heat radiated from the rear engines that were mounted starboard and aft, just forward of the rear ramp. The soldiers went under a nearby copse of trees and sat in the shade to await the arrival of the trucks.

  -(o)-

  Trucks arrived shortly after nightfall, and after loading their gear and saying goodbye to Big Black and her crew, 1st Platoon and Captain Harper were on their way to rejoin their division.

  Harper sat on the pa
ssenger side of the truck, all the way in the rear of the covered bed next to the tailgate. He scanned the communications channels listening for information about the fight in Fitzroy. The 1st Division had pushed well into the city despite fierce resistance from the Pythans, but the enemy threw a curve that threatened to undo what had been gained.

  The Pythans were using the city’s sewer system to launch attacks well behind the leading edge of battle. The 1st sent every available unit underground to try and stop the new Pythan threat. There was considerable chatter on the 9th Division net about the fighting.

  “Up to their neck in sewage and Pythans they say,” said a voice from an unknown 9th Division soldier.

  “The First is a top division. They’ll dig the Pythans out,” came an answer.

  “Better them than us,” said another voice. “They like to think they’re the best, so let them do the dirty work.”

  “More like shitty work. I don’t envy them.”

  “Knock off the chatter. Let’s worry about our job and let the First worry about theirs.”

  Harper heard nothing about how the 21st Regiment was faring. I guess I’ll know when I get there, he thought.

  Harper looked up and saw a young private seated directly across from him who was watching him fiddle with his commo gear in the dim light of the truck.

  “You’re not tired?” Harper asked, gesturing at the other soldiers in the truck, nearly all of whom were sleeping.

  “Sure I am, sir, but I’m more nervous than sleepy.”

  Harper laughed quietly. “Nerves and sleep don’t mix well. I know.”

  “You’re nervous?” the private asked, obviously surprised that Harper might be.