“Sure. A wired brain doesn’t do a thing for pregame jitters,” he said tapping his helmet.
“So, how does that thing work?” the private asked, pointing at Harper’s neural interface helmet.
“The interface links into our spinal cord and brain through embedded sensites,” he replied. The private winced at the thought, a common reaction. “The data collected by the instruments we wear get sent to our brains and the processing unit in our helmets.”
“Why do you need those things in your spine if it’s your brain where everything gets sent?”
“Much of the data gets routed through the spinal cord.”
Another wince from the private. “Is that faster?”
“No, slower actually, but that’s a good thing. It gives us time to assimilate data. The brain can only take so much at any given time, so the interface and the helmet processor order the data and send it at a pace we can manage. It also allows us to regulate some of our physiological processes”
The private shook his head. “Are you the future of soldiering then?”
Harper chuckled. “No. Maybe one in a thousand people have the right physical makeup to be able to handle all this gear, and most of them have the sense to not to bother with it. If I knew then what I know now…”
“You wouldn’t have done it?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” he said with a shake of his head. “It’s too late to go back, so all I can do is steer people away from it. That’s why you won’t find me recruiting for the NITS.”
“What’s so bad about it, other than the metal prongs in your spine and brain?”
“The bone growth from the sensites, the scarred skin from mesh rot and mesh burn, nerve and synapse damage from sensite overload. Other than that there’s not much bad. Not much of an upside either.”
“Well, I’m sorry about all that, but I’m glad you’re with us, Captain Harper.”
“Thanks. Try closing your eyes and pretend to sleep. Sometimes it’s the next best thing.”
The private leaned his head back and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he was asleep.
Harper smiled. Too bad I can’t pull that off.
By the time dawn broke, they arrived at their destination.
Harper parted ways with the infantry platoon and went in search of the 21st Regiment headquarters.
“Harps! Glad to see you,” Lopez said when he saw Harper enter the HQ. “George Tanaka got wounded a couple of hours ago. I talked with the regimental commander and he concurred with me that you ought to take George’s place with Third Battalion.”
“You got it,” Harper said. “How’s George?”
“He’ll live they say. They lifted him before I got a chance to see him.”
“Glad to hear it. What’s the situation?”
“It’s a strange fight. The Pythans were dug in like ticks when the First Division hit them. The First slugged it out with them and drove them back, block by block. Last night we rolled them up until the Pythans came out of the sewers like rats. That’s pretty much over and we’re getting ready to resume the push north. The First Battalion hasn’t been committed yet, except for a few units getting sent in as replacements.”
“What about Pythan artillery or support from space?”
“Attack craft and our own arty have destroyed most of their heavy stuff. I haven’t heard a thing about Pythans in space. Space Forces’ plan to draw them away seems to be working.”
“Okay, where do I go?”
“Some infantry from the First Battalion are going forward as reinforcement for Third Battalion in a few minutes. Go with them. I’ll be on the horn if you need me.”
“Okay, Roger,” he said, offering his hand.
As Lopez shook Harper’s hand he replied, “Watch your ass out there, Lucas.”
Harper found the company who was going forward near the headquarters, and as they moved on foot, he spoke with the captain who was leading them to the defensive line.
“Damndest thing, these Pythans,” the captain said. “They change tactics in the wink of an eye. They’ll defend a point like it was their last refuge, then just ghost us. A few minutes later, they’ll attack, sometimes retaking the point and defending it again. They are constantly probing and feinting, making it seem like a serious attack.
“When those actual attacks come they hit hard and fast. They try and pin down those at the point of attack with huge volumes of small arms fire while an assault force closes and tries to overrun the position. Those fights get ugly. A hail of grenades, and then they close. They have no fear of hand-to-hand either.”
When they finished talking, Harper heard a voice call to him.
“Captain Harper! I guess you’re stuck with us,” said the private from the truck ride. The soldier’s nametape read YATES.
“Looks that way. You watch your tail.”
“Will do, sir. You do the same.”
Harper sought out the battalion commander, a lieutenant colonel named Lorenz.
“Glad to see you, Captain Harper,” the commander said. “As soon as regiment gives the word, we start pushing north. I’d like you to link up with Bravo Company. They’re straddling a street called Bastrop, a major thoroughfare through this part of the city. They’ll be the first in the battalion to jump off.”
“You got it, sir,” Harper said.
He made his way to the company command post where he received directions to the company commander, Captain Harris.
“The battalion commander said you were coming. Lieutenant Tanaka said you were the best in the business.”
“George is young, captain. Sometimes they just say things.”
Harris laughed. “Have it your way. Tanaka performed very well, young or not. Let me brief you on our situation here.” He pointed at a map display. “I would like you to link up with Myers’ Third Platoon. Tanaka was with them yesterday and I think they have a handle on how to help you with your mission. They’re positioned on the right side of the street. Glad to have you with us.”
Harper moved forward carefully, using buildings as cover. Some nearby troops pointed out 3rd Platoon’s position. He moved on.
He could see the platoon positioned to cover an intersection with a mag gun crew in support. Their sandbagged positions overlooked the street and an empty storage yard. A few hundred meters away there were numerous buildings, warehouses and small factories.
“Good to see you, sir,” 2LT Myers said when he saw Harper approach. “We’re supposed to be jumping off soon, but I think something’s up. We’re seeing an awful lot of movement in the streets and buildings to the north.”
“Could they be readying an attack?” Harper asked.
“Wouldn’t surprise me, sir. These guys will keep you on your toes. You expect them to do one thing, they do another.”
The sound of motorized vehicles came from the Pythan side.
Harper squinted, looking up the street. “Did the Pythans use much in the way of vehicles yesterday?”
“Heard a few reports of light armor and attack craft in action, but we only saw a few small trucks with machine guns. That’s what I think we’re hearing.”
A tone sounded in Harper’s ears, a call over the platoon’s communications net. A glance at the data screen on his left forearm identified the calling station as PSG Jefferson. He assumed it was 3rd’s platoon sergeant.
“LT, Jefferson here. We’re picking up a lot of movement in buildings on both sides of the street, probably coming our way. Also, the mag gun is reporting another computer issue. They are offline until they get it resolved.”
“Roger that. I’ll send our new NITS up to see if he can help.”
Myers pointed out where Jefferson was located and Harper made his way there.
“Good to see you, sir,” PSG Jefferson said as Harper slid into next to him. “You NITS aren’t trained computer techs are you?
“No, but I might be able to find out where the problem lies.”
“That’d be great,
sir. They have a solid position, you can call for fire and designate targets from the mag gun position as well.”
Harper ran in a crouch behind a sandbag wall until he reached the gun position.
“You have a computer issue?”
A sergeant looked up from the open panel in the base of the weapon and saw Harper’s NITS helmet. “We sure do, sir. The diagnostic program is fucked, so I’m manually checking each component. A computer tech would probably be able to figure it out, but I’m a mag gunner. I fight this weapon system, I don’t fix’em unless I have to.”
“Let me link into the system and see if I can do anything.”
Harper pulled a flexcord from a pouch on his belt and plugged one end into his helmet as he handed the other end to the sergeant who plugged it into a port on the mag gun’s computer.
“This will take a minute,” Harper said. While he scanned the computer he looked to the front of 3rd Platoon’s position using a pair of binoculars. There was movement in many of the windows up the street.
The sharp cough of mortars made it to Harper’s ears. Moments later, he heard the sound of mortar rounds descending.
“Mortars, take cover,” he said to the gun crew and infantrymen near him.
Harper and everyone around him ducked behind sandbag walls or dropped into fighting positions, as did all of the Coalition troops near the street. Harper went prone next to the mag gun sergeant.
The mortar shells spattered the area like giant raindrops, detonating on impact and filling the air with dust and shell fragments. As explosions and screams of fear and pain sounded from all around, Harper found the problem with the mag gun computer.
“Your system has a bad motivator at R-Five-D-Four,” Harper yelled over the noise, pointing at the mag gun.
“What?” the sergeant replied with a look of confused astonishment, amazed at Harper’s calm demeanor.
Harper pointed once more. “The computer. Can you fix it?”
The sergeant nodded. “Yes, I have the part.”
“Good, because as soon as the mortars cease, we’ll have an attack to deal with. How long?”
“On the part? A couple of minutes.”
“That’s a long time in a fight. I’ll stay connected and see if I can fill in while you patch the computer.”
“Can you do that?”
Harper shrugged his shoulders. “Never tried it before, but we’ll see.”
The mortar barrage lifted and just as Harper suspected, Pythan troops flooded from nearby buildings and came at the Coalition line. The mag gun crew scrambled for their positions and opened fire as the sergeant feverishly went to work.
Harper slithered to the corner of the wall a short distance away and opened fire with his rifle while the mag gun sang with its distinctive metallic ring as it hurled high explosive rounds at the advancing Pythans. He saw a second wave of infantry coming from up the street. The mag gun was not taxing him very much.
He scanned the roster of artillery assets he had at his disposal, crosschecking for their current location. He sought a battery that had a line of fire that would clear the buildings in the area. A short hit could cause casualties among the Coalition troops nearby. Once he found what he was looking for, he called for a fire mission, bringing down airburst high explosive shells on the second wave.
The Pythan attack stalled, and the battle became a static firefight. Someone to Harper’s left yelled out that he could see more movement in the buildings behind the Pythan side. Harper scanned with his riflescope, but saw nothing. He moved back to the mag gun position and knelt next to the sergeant. He searched the ground floor windows and doorways.
“Captain Harper, I think I got it,” the mag gun sergeant said. “I’ll disconnect your lead and we’ll try it.”
Harper turned toward the sergeant as he unplugged the flexcord from his helmet. The hollow bloop of grenade launchers sounded just before explosions and small arms fire sprayed fragments and bullets across Bravo Company’s line. Another attack was underway.
A grenade exploded just short of the mag gun position. Fragments peppered the armored plate that protected the crew as bullets hissed past or dug into sandbags, then another grenade exploded nearby.
Harper was stung by debris that hit him from behind, blasting grit down the neck of his vest and throwing sizable debris that cracked against his shoulders and helmet. Harper dropped to the ground next to the sergeant as the mag gun returned fire.
“I think we got it, sir,” the sergeant said.
Harper’s radio hissed in his ears briefly.
“The Pythans are firing down on us from the buildings ahead,” Lieutenant Myers said over the platoon net. “Captain Harper, can you do something about that?”
“On it,” he said as he crawled to the edge of the sandbag wall.
A tone from his communications gear alerted him that someone was calling him. A glance at his command board showed him it was Lieutenant Colonel Lorenz calling all company commanders, platoon leaders, and NITS, in Third Battalion.
“Information from regiment indicates the Pythans are going to push a serious attack at Third Battalion. Bastrop Street looks like the place they will try to break through. If the Pythans follow their patterns from yesterday, they’ll be pushing and prodding all along our line. Captain Harris, Bravo will hold. Reinforcements are on the way. Captain Harper, you have access to all support assets available.”
Harper crawled back to the mag gun and made his way down the sandbag wall to a point closer to the street. He drew his knife and quickly gouged holes through some of the sandbags in the wall. He pulled other bags loose and rearranged them until he had a makeshift crenellation that gave him a vantage point to see down the street.
As he worked, Harper scanned the support asset list. Tube and rocket artillery, attack craft, and combat support floaters were available.
He activated the designator beam attached to his rifle. This would allow him to highlight a target with a point that guided munitions could track and hit a designated target with precision.
Harper ran a diagnostic program on his neural interface.
-SYSTEM PROCESSOR EFFICIENCY AT 100%, INTERFACE LINKAGE EFFICIENCY AT 100%, SENSITE EFFICIENCY AT 99.5%, SUBPROCESSES EFFICIENCY AT 100%, CEREBRALSPINAL FUNCTIONS AT 100%, NEURAL INTERFACE SYSTEM OVERALL FUNCTIONING AT 97% OF LAST TESTED LEVEL OF EFFICIENCY- was the result.
Harper was concerned. Everything was fine except for the neural interface system’s overall numbers. There had to be a reason for the lower efficiency.
I can’t worry about that now, he thought.
He put the diagnostic system on minimal persistent monitoring and logging. He could check on it when circumstances permitted.
-NEURAL INTERFACE SYSTEM OVERALL FUNCTIONING AT 97% OF LAST TESTED LEVEL OF EFFICIENCY- was copied to a log that would update every few minutes, whenever resources permitted.
Harper scanned the rooflines of the buildings Myers had mentioned. They were mostly two-story warehouses or manufacturing buildings with one three-story office at the corner of the intersection a block away. He could see men on nearly all of the buildings.
Harper toggled his communications to the air net. “Master Forward Controller, this is Pecos-Five-Seven-November,” he said using the call sign assigned to him by the battalion.
“Pecos-Five-Seven-November, this is MFC.”
“MFC, I require air assets for suppression of infantry on rooftops. Combat floaters would be preferable.”
“Five-Seven-November, roger. Can do, stand by on this frequency.”
Harper scanned the buildings ahead, looking for indications of where the expected assault might originate.
-NEURAL INTERFACE SYSTEM OVERALL FUNCTIONING AT 95% OF LAST TESTED LEVEL OF EFFICIENCY-
“Pecos-Five-Seven-November, this is Mako Flight. I understand you have some business for us.”
“That I do, Mako. Infantry on rooftops.” Harper pinpointed the buildings he wanted hit and sent the information to Mako F
light.
“Five-Seven-November, we’ll come in parallel to your line from your right to left. Mag guns with antipersonnel rounds. Estimate sixty seconds.”
Fifty-eight seconds later, by Harper’s clock, four combat floaters popped up from behind buildings to the right and streaked over the Pythan occupied structures spitting mag gun rounds. The antipersonnel rounds raked the rooftops, sowing death. Those Pythans that were not killed scrambled to vacate the exposed positions.
“Five-Seven-November, do we need to make another pass?” came the call after the combat floaters completed their run.
Harper scanned across the rooftops and saw they were now void of Pythans. “Negative, Mako. You swept them clean.”
“Roger that. We’ll be around. Call us if you need us.”
“Will do.”
-NEURAL INTERFACE SYSTEM OVERALL FUNCTIONING AT 91% OF LAST TESTED LEVEL OF EFFICIENCY-
A company of infantry from First Battalion moved into the position held by Bravo Company and took positions along the line. The tracks of LF17 light tanks clanked from somewhere behind.
Harper scanned the buildings ahead and saw considerably more movement inside than before.
“MFC, this is Pecos-Five-Seven-November, request attack craft support, preferably with precision ordnance.”
“Five-Seven-November, roger. Stand by.”
A few seconds later a hiss on the communications channel let Harper know someone had switched to the frequency.
“Pecos-Five-Seven-November, this is Dagger-Two-Two-One.”
Harper’s neural interface pushed data about Dagger-221 through his brain. The attack craft was ACN-221, nicknamed Bucket o’ Pain and flown by a Neural Interface Vehicle Operator named Flaherty. ACN-221 was high and well behind Harper’s position, armed with 200mm high explosive missiles. He estimated the flight time of those missiles as fifteen seconds from launch to impact.
“Dagger-Two-Two-One, this is Five-Seven-November. I need precision high explosive launched at five-second intervals, six missiles. Aim them at the buildings located at the coordinates I am sending to you. Set missiles for individual encryption, I have a separate target for each of them. Be advised, I am a NITS.”
Conflict: The Pythan War, Invasion Page 21