Conflict: The Pythan War, Invasion

by DK Williamson

  Another group from our little assault force made a move up the hill fifty meters away. A flurry of fire from the Grumblers quickly turned them into a cursing mass accompanied by the high-pitched soundtrack of simulated death.

  We had done our job well. Based on the amount of fire we were receiving, I guessed we had drawn most of their force to our side of the perimeter.

  “What the hell do we do now?” whispered one of us as the last of the flares went dim, leaving us in complete darkness.

  “We attack, that’s what,” hissed Laura Gunter, a Newb from Alpha Company in our battalion. She was to my left as we hunkered in our little spot of safety.

  “We’ll end up like the others, dead,” said someone else.

  “Then what? Do we just sit here?” Gunter said.

  “Yes. That’s exactly what we do,” I said.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Gunter growled. If she could have found my face in the dark, I believe she would have punched me.

  “We did our job already. We sit here till the other platoons attack, then we try and make our way into their perimeter.”

  “If you can’t blow your way in, sneak your way in,” Sharkey, Blaine, and Porcello all whispered in unison, quoting Drill Sergeant Fortuna.

  “That’s good,” Gunter said. “Who the hell are you?” she said as she poked me in the ribs.

  “That’s Walker,” Sharkey said.

  “Oh, the tall guy,” Gunter said, her tone softening a little. “I looked it up. We’re the same height, 1.85 meters tall, you know.”

  I wasn’t sure what she was trying to say, but I think she was flirting, infantry style.

  “You want to stop flirting with the tall chick and tell us what the plan is?” one of the guys in the dark said to me. The rest of the unit decided to launch their attack about then, negating my need to have to correct the guy about who was flirting with who.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty simple. We break into two teams of four and make our way up the hill separately. If one team gets spotted, then the other team might slip by. If we can get inside the perimeter we head straight for the HQ.”

  “That’s not bad,” somebody said.

  Long shadows from the distant flares provided scant illumination, but it was enough for us to see our way up the hill.

  “Let’s go, before we run out of time and darkness,” I said.

  “You three, with me,” said one of the men at the other end of the line.

  “We’re with you, Hank,” Sharkey said as he tapped me on the shoulder.

  The other four were going to our left, moving diagonally up the hill. I took us straight up.

  As we neared the top the firing continued, but we could hear a lot of high-pitched alarms, and I assumed they were mostly Newbs. When we neared the edge of the wire I saw movement and signaled my teammates to drop. We sank into the grass on the hillside.

  As soon as it looked clear, I stood and moved to the wire. I could see soldiers running in the flare light a hundred meters away, but no closer, so I fell on top of the wire and hissed, “Let’s go.”

  My three teammates scrambled over me, then I stood and followed them. We were in.

  Rifle fire erupted twenty meters to our left.

  “They’re in the wire! Over here,” one of the Grumblers yelled.

  A hand flare hissed its way skyward over our heads.

  “Take cover,” I whispered as I took off at a run, hoping the other three would follow.

  If the flare popped before we found concealment, there was no way the Grumblers could miss us. It was a race, four soldiers against a climbing flare.

  From the other team I heard Blaine’s voice on the heels of a high-pitched electronic squeal. He cursed and we knew he had been hit. I assumed his teammates would soon follow if they hadn’t already.

  I ran for a water trailer parked nearby and dove under it, followed closely by my teammates. We quickly discovered it wasn’t a water trailer at all. It was a sewage trailer… and it was leaking.

  “Ahhh,” Porcello said quietly as the flare came to life and lit up the ground all around us. “I’m going to be sick,” he said just a moment before he vomited. I felt like doing the same and the looks on the faces of Sharkey and Gunter told me I wasn’t alone. Our hiding place was ripe.

  “Search everywhere, there may be more of them,” yelled a voice.

  To my left I could see Blaine and his team walking away as the rifle fire on the other side of the hill began to slacken.

  A pair of Grumblers walked next to the trailer and stopped.

  “Fuck but that stinks. That may be the worst thing I’ve ever smelled,” said one of them.

  You ought to be down here, I thought.

  “Gah, I’m going to puke,” said the other soldier, and then he did, his vomitus splattering us under the trailer.

  All four of us covered our mouths and somehow managed to stay quiet and not puke.

  “Let’s go,” said the other soldier. “I can’t take any more of this.”

  As he led his companion away he said, “You wanna get something to eat?”

  “As soon as the flare above us goes out, let’s go for the headquarters tent,” I whispered.

  My teammates nodded.

  Less than a minute later, the flare died. We scrambled out of the reeking seepage and got to our feet, running for the mock headquarters. Ten meters from the tent, a pair of Grumblers rounded the corner ahead of us. Sharkey and I fired first, and as the two soldiers’ alarms sounded, they pulled the triggers on now inert weapons.

  “In the tent! Newbs are here, look out!” one of them yelled.

  Technically that was cheating because they were dead, but it didn’t matter, we were in the tent in no time and began shooting up the place, spreading eau de sewage wherever we went. A simulated massacre as alarms pealed mock death.

  A minute later, a couple of Grumblers threw a pair of inert grenades in the tent and the umpires called the exercise to a close. We were the last of the Newb force.

  During the after action review, everyone gave us four sewage crawlers a wide berth, but an ample amount of praise.

  One of the Grumblers made a crack about our use of biological warfare, and I suppose he wasn’t far off the mark.

  We Newbs lost since we didn’t capture the headquarters, but we acquitted ourselves well, and by the time we were ready to begin loading up for our move to the Murph, we were fully accepted by our company mates… they just steered clear of some of us until the smell wore off.

  -(o)-

  Troop Landing Craft TLC-A633 was the bird that would take us groundside. Landing craft didn’t receive official names like the Murph, but landing craft crews named them anyway. A633 was called The Hell-Bent Express.

  Landing craft could carry a platoon and their gear, plus a little extra. Sometimes that extra was more gear or extra personnel. The Express would be transporting five members of the company headquarters section, including Captain Connolly. We were sure he was riding with us because 3rd Platoon was the best in the company, but he told us with a twinkle in his eye that it was because he wanted to ride The Express.

  The Express was a lucky bird. She’d been tagged more than once by enemy fire in action on the planet Beaumont, but always finished the mission with no loss to crew or troops. Birds like her and the crews that operated them were the choice rides. Even though few soldiers would admit it, we were a superstitious lot.

  We boarded and took our seats. There was a large open area in the backs of the seats to accommodate whatever a soldier might have on his or her back, a pack, radio, weapons system, or something else. The inflatable mesh would form itself around the gear and release on landing. All a soldier need do was stand and run down the ramp.

  Once we were secure, the pilot spoke to us over the headset communication system.

  “Welcome aboard First Platoon, Alpha Company,” he said.

  Most every soldier aboard cursed at him, calling him every name in the boo
k. It was an old and running joke between Space Forces landing craft crew and their Land Forces passengers. I suppose it had gone on long enough within Coalition Forces that it was tradition.

  “Glad to have you aboard, Third Platoon. The best deserve the best.” He said it like he meant it.

  -(o)-

  “Sixty seconds to landing, be ready,” the copilot said over the headset.

  An explosion thumped in the air near our craft. Impacts on the hull from fragments sounded like a handful of gravel thrown against a sheet metal barn.

  “We’re okay, Third Platoon,” the copilot said, her voice calm. “You’ll be on time for your date with the Pythans.”

  The Express began to shudder as the landing thrusters kicked in. The pilot was bringing us in hot and we’d hit the ground hard, but that was the best and fastest way to do it. The TLC could take it and so could we.

  “Ten seconds, brace for landing.”

  We shoved our heads back into the webbing and gripped the armrests with our hands.

  The landing thrusters cut out and we slammed the ground. Our seats released and we charged from The Express as the ramp slammed down.

  “The Pythans are in some big fucking trouble,” the copilot said. “Go get’em Third Platoon.”

  “I wonder if she dates grunts?” SGT Parker asked as he charged down the ramp.

  “Make it back alive and you might find out,” she shot back.

  Most of the platoon cheered or made some comment about her retort. She was probably as ugly as a landing craft, but I would have bet that half the platoon would have married her on the spot.

  We charged down the ramp into the morning light and turned left, except for CPT Connolly and his group, they went right and ran for the headquarters element rally point.

  The dust and smoke from the landing obscured our view and got in our eyes, but all I needed to see was the back of SSG Vagrant and go where he went.

  As we went around the side of The Express, I could see the battle damage she’d received. I don’t think a single one of us doubted she’d be ready for the next round.

  Small arms fire erupted from the multistory buildings ahead. We were near a business district and our mission would take us right into the Pythan forces positioned in those substantial buildings.

  Fifty meters ahead was a low wall that abutted a roadway. We were to move there and provide support for Bravo Company who was assaulting to our left.

  Pythan machine guns all along the row of buildings blazed away, with heavy machine gun fire tearing into Bravo’s lead platoon as we made it to the wall.

  “Put some fire on those machine guns, Team One,” SSG Vagrant called out. “Walker, target the heavy machine guns,” he said as he pointed at me.

  I set the forend of my rifle on the wall and searched for the muzzle blasts over the top of my scope. There was a pair of the big machine guns, one each on the second floor of two separate buildings about fifty meters apart.

  I ranged the machine gun on the right, 352 meters the readout displayed. I could see the gun crew in the shadows, three of them, greyish camouflage against black. I sighted on the gunner first, figuring the sooner he was dead the sooner his weapon stopped spewing death at Bravo Company.

  I fired, the rifle pushed into the pocket of my shoulder with its familiar jolt. My sight picture wavered a fraction under the recoil. I picked out a second man, trying to pull his comrade away so he could take over the weapon. I put a 7mm round between his shoulder blades and sought the third man through my scope.

  He was looking in my direction, the magnification of my optics made it seem like he was looking right at me. I sighted and fired, the bullet punching through him high in the chest just below the collarbones. The shocked look on his face was a similar one I would probably have if the same thing happened to me.

  We were taking fire by now. The wall was reinforced concrete, but we had to fire over the top, which left us exposed. Better to be prone and shoot from the side of cover, but the wall was what we had. I tried to ignore the bullets passing by so uncomfortably close to us and target the second heavy machine gun.

  I slowed my breathing as I located the MG though my scope and ranged the target. The machine gun was set back into the building, and I could not see the crew. Something Sergeant Fortuna drilled into us came into mind, “If you can’t kill the crew, kill the weapon.”

  I fired at the front third of the boxy receiver, the only portion of the machine gun visible to me except for the barrel. I fired again, and again, not sure if I was scoring any hits.

  The barrel on the MG tilted up and I could see an elbow flash in and out of view. A few seconds later, the barrel came down. I moved the crosshair to the receiver once again and waited to see if the machine gun would fire. After several seconds, I concluded that the crew had abandoned the weapon.

  A chinking sound and a stinging impact on my right cheek dragged me away from the machine gun position and back to the world by the wall. A Pythan bullet narrowly missed me, digging out a portion of the concrete near my face and spattering me with tiny fragments of bullet and wall.

  I slid down below the edge of the concrete.

  “You okay, Hank?” Sharkey asked with a concerned look on his face.

  “I’m okay, Dan, but that was close,” I replied.

  “You’re bleeding,” Sharkey said, pointing at my face.

  “Walker, you deal with the machine guns?” SSG Vagrant asked as he looked over Sharkey’s shoulder.

  “Roger that, sarge,” I said.

  “Sharkey, put something on that,” Vagrant said, pointing at my face. “Quickly, we’re moving up in a couple of minutes. Bravo got chewed up and we go next.”

  Sharkey smeared a dollop of velgel on a finger and applied it to the small wounds on my face. Within a few seconds the bleeding had stopped.

  I swapped the magazine in my rifle for a full one, shoving the partially expended mag into a pouch on my left hip.

  Bullets continued to pock off the wall and hiss overhead. Explosions from Pythan artillery threw dirt and debris into the air on the landing zone as Troop and Vehicle Landing Craft continued to feed Coalition forces into the battle. I noticed The Express was gone and another LC was coming down hot, aiming for the same piece of turf where we had landed.

  Overhead an AC, an Attack Craft, fired missiles from the port side. SGT Parker said he thought the craft was targeting the artillery. We never knew if that was the case, because PSG Vandoren passed by in a crouch and said we’d momentarily be following Bravo Company’s route into the city and be picking up where they left off.

  -(o)-

  The word was given and Charlie went over the wall, Captain Connolly leading the way.

  The company to our right gave us supporting fire.

  We went for a building with a big red sign, three hundred meters distant. Some distance to our left a company from one of the other battalions was moving for the same location it seemed.

  Bullets hissed and sailed by. Pythan grenade launchers lobbed high explosive rounds at us. I hoped that whoever was supposed to be suppressing them would get to it.

  To 3rd Platoon’s right a soldier let out an agonizing cry. I glanced and saw a man on the ground and another trying to help him.

  “Leave him. The medics will take care of him,” someone bellowed.

  I never saw if the soldier obeyed. Getting to the red sign in one piece was the focus of my attention.

  A mortar round exploded to our front, close enough to send buzzing fragments within earshot.

  “Pick up the pace, follow me,” CPT Connolly yelled loud enough we could hear him even if the commo net weren’t sending his command.

  “Stay with the captain,” 1SG Wolf bellowed.

  Our platoon sergeant echoed the first sergeant’s command over our platoon commo net, as did the other platoon sergeants I assumed.

  The captain led us to the right. He was attempting to run the company out from under the mortar, and make it diffi
cult for the mortar crew to anticipate where we were going. Because of its high trajectory, a mortar round has a significant flight time for the linear ground distance the round covered, enough that trying to bring fire down on a moving target is difficult, even if it is men on foot. The mortar’s crew had to fire at a point where they thought we would be many seconds after they fired, rather than where we were. The lead time and distance for an indirect fire weapon like a mortar is much greater than a direct fire weapon like a rifle.

  Connolly led us on a zigzag course at a dead sprint. I was gassed by the time we made the building front. I pitied the troops carrying heavy weapons and wondered how they must have felt, but we all made it, demonstrating the usefulness of being fit and a commander who was on the ball.

  We took a quick breather and downed some water. We had to get moving.

  The company to our left was duplicating our actions across the opening of the street where Bravo Company had assaulted and been driven back. Between them and us were a dozen dead Land Forces troops on the pavement.

  Connolly coordinated with the other company, and within minutes, we were on the attack. Our platoon was to move up the street along with a platoon from the other company.

  Lieutenant Parra relayed to us we’d be going up the right side of the street with a platoon from the other battalion paralleling us on the left. The rest of our company would be to our right moving down an alley and through a maze of structures over there.

  The other platoon was out of Delta Company, 1st Battalion. We could see them getting ready to move out, the same as us.

  Parra gave the word and we moved to the street, the other platoon mirroring us. 1st Squad led, with us behind them.

  As we neared the corner, I could see a broken street sign on the sidewalk, the name not visible in the dimmed out display. Around the corner I could see up the nameless street and view the loss Bravo Company had suffered. The Pythans had hurt them badly. The dozen dead we had seen before was nothing compared to what we could see now.

  We covered the opposite side of the street while the other platoon covered our side. PSG Vandoren ordered Corporal Harris from 2nd Squad and myself, the only precision riflemen in our platoon, to take up positions and watch the multistory buildings up the street.