Invasion of Kzarch

by E. G. Castle

  “Maybe, sir, but it’s also distracting ‘em.” Still frowning, Frank withheld the order to stop firing, although he wasn’t sure his sergeant was correct.

  In any case, it didn’t seem it would make much difference. The two groups were already starting to close.

  The greater number of wegs the platoon had were still keeping the missiles from reaching it, but more and more were reaching the range that had an entire wing firing on it in self-defense.

  As for the SIAMs, one had actually already hit one of the Blastfires, although leaving it without any detectable damage.

  “Frank?”

  The lieutenant blinked. His platoon sergeant hardly ever used his first name.

  “What?”

  “I think we should consider moving s-squad forward.”

  Javer’s squad? Why-?

  In answer to the lieutenant’s unspoken question, the sergeant pointed out, “They’ll be able to hit missiles from farther out; and they’ll be able to engage the bogies earlier as well. And their greater ECM and higher accuracy makes them the best choice, sir.”

  Frank was well aware of all that. And further, was well aware that pushing his scout squad farther out would place them in greater danger…

  But his sergeant was right.

  “Very well. Javer, shift your squad further up point. Begin hitting the bogies. Sandy, move your squad up a bit, and help provide additional long point-defense.”

  “Good idea, sir,” murmured McKain on their private channel. The lieutenant said nothing, sure his sergeant would have suggested it anyway if he hadn’t thought of it, and watched as his orders were carried out.

  The battle was getting steadily more chaotic, missiles constantly exploding, the bright yellow glows of the weg bolts, the small explosions from the exbys, and the near constant flow of chatter over the com. The lieutenant himself was now participating in the defensive fire, which was only further distracting him from the overall situation. Still, he was mostly able to keep track.

  So far, the platoon hadn’t lost anyone, although several soldiers had taken damage on their shields. The bogies had been hit three times by now, and had begun to slow, now changing into a constantly spiraling formation, to make accurate targeting harder.

  Thinking furiously, Frank decided it was time to try something more audacious.

  “All troops prepare to engage in force. Move forward at full speed, and target Bogie Two,” -Which happened to be the Blastfire the heavy squad had been targeting.- “-with your exbys. On my mark…” The lieutenant waited several seconds, until he was sure the entire platoon was ready, and that the latest wave of missiles had been dealt with.

  “Mark!” The entire platoon surged forward. Before, they had simply been riding on their initial momentum, as using their battlesuits’ energy reserves to propel themselves forward would quickly drain them. Now, however, they needed to move.

  Within moments they were in range of the gunboats, and the entire platoon began firing their weapons. Raising both arms, Frank joined in, firing his left weg while using the other hand to handle his exby rifle.

  While the Blastfire had shrugged off what few hits that had been gotten in before, this new barrage was a bit too much for it.

  Shuddering as hit after hit connected, the Blastfire yanked itself out of the formation, and attempted to flee… before two SIAMs from the heavy squad hit it up its engine.

  The explosion was soundless, but the platoon’s cheers of victory weren’t. Indeed, Kate’s banshee howl nearly deafened the lieutenant.

  “Clear th’ channel!” McKain snapped harshly, “And stay focused! We’ve still got five to go!”

  But they didn’t.

  The destruction of their comrade seemed to have taken the wind out of the remaining Blastfires’ sails, and they were already turning and making a full retreat.

  “Looks like we’ve won… for the moment, sir.”

  “Yes. Good thing, too. I-”

  He was interrupted by a sudden babble over the platoon’s com.

  “What is-?!”

  “They got Marv!”

  “What?! Shit!” On his display, a death notification was popping up, the Marine having lasted for several second after getting hit before expiring.

  As it turned out, one of the last missiles fired by the bogies had managed to break through, and lock onto a trooper, despite the difficulty in locating such a small and stealthed target. Such was the luck of combat.

  “All of you, shut up!” snapped the sergeant, trying to get the channel clear again. “You think it’s a surprise one of you died?! Keep messing around, and you’ll be next! Now, get back into formation!”

  With harsh words and near constant invective, the experienced sergeant got the platoon back together, once more heading steadily towards the planet, now only an hour or so away.

  Instinctively, Frank found his way to the appropriate place in the formation, his mind currently blank.

  He had lost a man.

  This wasn’t the first time he had fought in battle, nor even the second, but it was only the third. In those two times he had fought before, he had seen men die, but none had been his responsibility, and the lieutenant was surprised at the difference it made. The heavy weight of his failure seemed to settle on his shoulders, like a yoke that could never be removed.

  “Moving forward was a bit dangerous,” the sergeant remarked.

  Frank did his best not to snap at him.

  “What was I suppose to do; just let them hang around and shoot at us? The SIAMs weren’t getting the job done!”

  “Well, it worked…” the sergeant dourly conceded. Then suddenly realizing what was bothering his commander, added “You shouldn’t be worrying over what happened, sir. It was inevitable either way. There’s always a good chance of someone dying on a hot insertion.”

  “And why is it a hot insertion?” the lieutenant demanded. “Weren’t the pirates supposed to be in hiding?”

  “I… would guess not, sir.” the platoon sergeant said, tone carefully blank.

  “No?” Lieutenant Harsmith said sarcastically.

  Then Frank sighed to himself. He was well aware that the situation had gotten more complicated, and that getting his sergeant’s hackles up wasn’t a good idea. But with the ghost of a Marine hovering over him, and an operation already starting to mess up…

  “This isn’t good, McKain,” he finally said, in an almost conciliatory tone. “I don’t like what it means that the pirates have control of Kzarch’s space; if for no other reason than that what it implies for the surface.”

  “I’d have to agree, sir.”

  “Keep an eye open, and tell me if you think of anything,” Frank continued. “You’ve got more experience than me, and I’m going to need you to help me figure out what’s going on… preferably before we walk into a trap.”

  “Yes, sir!” The dour sergeant’s voice was, unusually, almost enthusiastic.

  Turning off the com, Frank turned towards the planet, mind busy thinking, doing his best to shrug the Marine’s death. He barely remembered Marv, just another Marine in his platoon… and yet, what little he remembered of him would always haunt him now, the lieutenant was sure.

  Once again forcibly turning his mind from it, Frank looked around at his formation, the platoon having completely reformed their initial formation by this point.

  His scout squad was taking point again, as well as the rear. Their scout-type battlesuits were designed with better sensors and ECM, although with a subsequent cost in power drain and forcing them to carry lighter exby rifles. They also carried weaker armor, compared to regular battlesuits, making them far more vulnerable to damage.

  Like nearly all s-squads, Javer’s team was for infiltration, scouting and skirmishing; and because of that last, required and had a higher average accuracy rating than the other squads.

  The h-squad on the other hand, was the platoon’s heavy weapons group. In addition to the usual battlesuit weaponry, the Mari
ne battlesuit’s two wegs (Wrist Energy Guns) and a slung Ex-B (Explosive Bullet) rifle and a pack of grenades (twelve), they each carried a missile launcher, and twenty SIAMs (Standard Infantry Attack Missile) each.

  And that was a problem. The space battle, short as it was, had shot away around forty percent of the heavy squad’s armament.

  Of course, his q-squad, the quartermaster squad, was carrying spares; but his platoon would quickly run out of SIAMs if they kept spending them like this. Frank couldn’t think of a way he could’ve fought the previous battle without using them; the distraction they had provided had been critical, and the damage they had dealt was what had finally driven the bogies away. Still, he was going to have to be more conservative in using them in the future.

  Frank’s platoon currently consisted of an h-squad, a s-squad, a q-squad, and three regular squads, often designated as r-squads to be consistent. Of course, technically there were four r-squads, as the q-squad was simply a regular squad assigned to haul the platoon’s extra equipment. In some platoons, an r-squad was permanently designated as a q-squad, in others, as in Frank’s platoon, it was rotated, usually by mission.

  With the loss of one of his men, Lieutenant Harsmith’s platoon now held sixty-one men, ten per squad plus the lieutenant and platoon sergeant.

  Each were fully encased in a battlesuit, although the battlesuits themselves varied. Aside from the individual differences and enhancements some of the Marines sported, having upgraded their battlesuits, there were also basic differences of design and function, like the scout battlesuits already mentioned, and the h-suits the heavy squad used.

  The heavy battlesuits were obviously named so because they were larger and heavier than the average battlesuit, bearing slightly greater armor than a regular battlesuit. Further, and more importantly, an h-suit, as it was often shortened to, was able to produce far a heavier shield than a normal battlesuit.

  An h-suit also had slightly better ECM, but was still detected with greater ease than a regular battlesuit. This was due to the heavier shields, SIAMs and missile launchers they carried, all of which could be detected by most military-class sensors, if with some difficulty. As well, once a missile was fired, it could almost always be easily tracked to its source.

  One thing remained the same, however, regardless of the particular suit type: How the battlesuit was controlled. To maintain optimum, efficient and precise control, even in the harshest of conditions, each marine had a comp implant embedded into their skull, to allow direct mental control of the suit and its own comp.

  It wasn’t the most comfortable way of controlling the suits; certainly the surgery to get the implant in hadn’t been! And even after a Marine got used to the sensation, the ‘itch’ the comp caused whenever it was used was quite annoying.

  All the various types of battlesuits were also designed to simulate camouflage, the battlesuits covered with a special plastic that could change color with a simple command to the battlesuit’s comp. The plastic was able to manifest any type of camouflage required, whether for snow, city, forest, desert or other.

  While using the camouflage systems did create a small power drain, as it was usually not particularly significant, regs stated that when in a combat zone, camouflage was to be maintained at all times.

  When not in actual combat, however, the battlesuits simulated a basic black with brown, blue and white highlights, signifying all four areas where Marines operated. In addition, they also displayed rank markers, regardless of the various different camo simulations.

  But the main defense of the battlesuit wasn’t its camouflage or even its armor, but rather, its energy shield ‘bubble’. The battlesuit’s shield system allowed the creation of two meters or so wide shield-spheres that were basically uni-directional, which allowed a Marine to fire out of it while being under its protection. As the shields drained a considerable amount power from the battlesuits, as well as making the Marine fairly easy to detect, they were usually only used in open combat.

  A further problem with the shields were the way they hampered mobility. While a Marine could still move with his shield active, doing so was difficult and slow, due to the heavy drain on a Marine’s power; which meant that his battlesuit’s ability to function, including the battlesuit’s powered ‘muscles’, were greatly curtailed. And further, the shield had to be ‘pushed’ forward as the Marine proceeded, as the shield’s surface would attempt to refract the air it was touching and being forced against.

  One final issue with the shield was the ‘ripple’ it made where it touched the ground. While these at least provided a place for air to enter, they also provided a way for weapons to target the battlesuit’s user without having to penetrate the shield.

  Indeed, it was that same ‘ripple’ which had gotten Frank’s foot shot in the second of the only two, now three, engagements he had ever fought. He had to spend a week in physical recovery afterwards, much to his embarrassment and annoyance.

  Wincing from the memory, Frank was glad of the distraction his sergeant provided, who was just then comming him.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, sergeant?”

  “I’ve been thinking… those Blastfires ran too easily.”

  “Oh?” Frank’s tone invited the sergeant to continue.

  “We only destroyed one of them; then they ran like rabbits.”

  “Maybe, but on the other hand,” pointed out the lieutenant, “They didn’t even get one of ours until after they had already turned away. Besides, they’re pirates; and pirates don’t take well to losses. It’s quite likely they didn’t even have large missiles loads; it wouldn’t surprise me if they left simply because they were running low.”

  “Maybe, sir.” But the sergeant’s voice was doubtful. Frank suppressed a sigh. Then he was struck by a thought.

  “McKain, have the heavies re-supplied themselves?”

  “Yes, sir. I instructed them to do so once everyone was back in formation.” The sergeant’s tone held a bit of reproach, making Frank wince. He should have remembered to give the order, not simply let his sergeant attend to it.

  “I see. Thank you, sergeant.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.” With that, McKain closed the channel. Sighing to himself, Frank once more turned to the planet.

  Chapter Two

  Forty minutes later, and the platoon was making atmospheric entry. The original plan had called for them to pause before doing so, and attempt to contact the planetary authorities. With that accomplished, the Marines would ask them for a landing location, and perform a soft, slow re-entry.

  But after the Blastfire attack, the plan required… modification.

  Frank attempted to hail the planet several times, just in case, but had, at the same time, ordered his platoon to prepare for a hot entry.

  Basically, the entire platoon would fling itself at full speed through the atmosphere, and to a landing of the lieutenant’s choosing, irregardless of what the planetary authorities might say. After all, they may have been compromised.

  That particular contingency didn’t matter, however, as, in the end, they couldn’t contact anyone at all… Which was odd, to say the least.

  “All right, people,” the lieutenant said grimly, after waiting for a moment past his last, final attempt to hail Kzarch. “We’re going in hot. And, metaphorically speaking, blind. We have no idea what’s going on down there. Keep your eyes open and your wits about you! I want to know the instant we find out something.” He paused a moment.

  “Begin entry in thirty-two, thirty-one…” Frank keyed in the automatic counter to take over for him, and waited the remaining seconds impatiently.

  Leaning forward, as the count hit ten, Frank commanded his battlesuit through his comp implant to prepare to generate a large thrust. At zero, it did so.

  The impact made him feel as if an elephant had smashed him against the back of his battlesuit, but he managed to shove off the feeling, and concentrate on controlling his steadily accelerating fall. The b
attlesuit would take care of most of it, but some things required a more human touch.

  The platoon had spread out into a much more scattered formation, in order to give more room in-between each member, to prevent accidents, as well as lowering the chance of a missile managing to take out a large number of them. It also made themselves less noticeable to sensors than they would as a close group, which should hopefully prevent missiles from being a problem in the first place.

  Getting steadily deeper into the atmosphere, Frank shut down the visual in his helmet in favor of a computer generated plot. With the flames that had begun to gather around his battlesuit blocking off his view, he was better off without it.

  The next few minutes, though boring in a way, were also filled with tension. Although there was little to see or do, there was a definite chance they’d be attacked mid-fall, which could be a disaster. Descending the way they were, at high speed, dealing with intense friction heat, and with sensors confused by both the former, they were hardly capable of putting up a real defense.

  Fortunately, the planetary entry was completed without incident, taking only just over two minutes and a half to accomplish. A mile above the ground, the platoon engaged their battlesuits’ ‘brakes’ (Frank was smashed against the front of his this time.), and reformed into a closer unit moments before hitting the ground.

  All was quiet. For a moment, anyway. Then Sergeant McKain began bawling into the troops.

  “Javer, get your scouts moving! I want this area secured ten minutes ago! Everyone, activate your camouflage and ECM! Move it, before you get a shot up yer ass! Kate, have your squad ready to shoot down any incoming! Move it, people! Abe, I want your squad taking point behind the scouts! We’re heading north to the city! Move out!”

  The whole platoon was in motion, in a seeming mess of confusion. Within seconds though, they had steadied out, and were moving forward.

  Over the com, Frank said dryly, “Thank you, sergeant.”

  “Just anticipating your orders, sir!”

  The lieutenant gave a snort, and shut the channel. After all, what else could he say?