"Oh, there's nothing to worry about, Captain. Please continue."
He did so, making a mental note to himself to find out what was so funny, but not right now.
"There's not much more, ma'am. Clark and her team will extract the information from the core then make their way back to the hangar. Once there, we make our extraction and rendezvous with the Valhalla."
"Very well, Captain. It sounds like you have things well in hand," McLaughlin said as she and Commander Ruggs stood. "Lieutenant Commander Tucholski here"—she patted the navigation officer on the shoulder—"has already calculated your insertion profile, and he'll work out a rendezvous plan as well while the rest of you hammer out the details. As for the assault carrier, the Valhalla is more than its match. It'll be disabled or destroyed before you leave the ship. Any questions before I let you get to it?"
"No, ma'am. We'll get it done." Optika came to attention.
"I'm sure you will, Captain. Just keep in mind that you have exactly"—she looked over Tucholski's shoulder at his pad—"two hours and seventeen minutes to flesh out your plan, brief your marines, and board the shuttles before launch."
That wasn't much time, but he knew that complaining about it wouldn't give him any more. There was only one thing left to say.
"Not a problem, ma'am. We'll be ready."
* * *
Captain Optika was jerked out of his ruminations as the shuttle hit atmosphere traveling at close to two thousand kilometers per hour. Normally, as a battalion commander, he would not be leading a company-level assault, but with the rapid reorganization of the battalion, he deemed it safer to remain in command of his original company. Optika trusted his XO to run the company, but with the new chain of command in place for only a few hours, it would make things smoother and keep confusion to a minimum with him still running the show. The pilots rode the turbulence as the shuttles bucked and groaned, rapidly closing on the surface. At the last possible moment, the shuttle began its breaking maneuver in the simple and expedient method of simply reversing thrust—with the throttles wide open.
Optika and the rest strained at their harnesses as they were thrown forward. Blood rushed to his face, giving him the feeling that his face was about to burst. He tried to concentrate on what little intelligence they had, but his mind continued to drift back to something he had once been told by an instructor during his assault training.
Unless an assault shuttle explodes upon reentry, it can plow into the ground traveling at unbelievably high speeds and still possibly be salvageable—once the remains of the passengers are sponged out of it, that is.
Optika smiled. No matter how many drops he'd done over the years, it always came back to him when they hit the atmosphere.
As the shuttle leveled out at one hundred meters above the surface, Optika reviewed their current status. He glanced at the monitors and saw Shuttle Five on his port side, Shuttle Six starboard. Their speed was one thousand kilometers per hour and falling. Glancing at the display projected on the inside of his helmet, he could see that they were rapidly coming up on their jump-off point. In fact, they had less than a minute until touchdown. Time to get to work.
"Lock and load, marines!" He had to shout over the company net to be heard. The sound of their flight, while not deafening, was uncomfortably loud. Optika listened as his platoon leaders passed the order on. Keeping an eye on his countdown, Optika followed his own order and inserted a magazine into his pulse rifle and cycled the power up, charging the capacitors, then moved on to his pistol when was finished.
The shuttles went subsonic and continued to decelerate as he counted down the last five seconds over the net. Feeling the shuttle's skids hit the ground in a bone-rattling impact, Captain Stewart Optika slapped the quick release on his harness and sprang to his feet, shouting.
"Everybody out of the boats! Move, move, move!"
Following his marines out the shuttle, he jumped to the ground, watching as they raced to form a perimeter.
The assault had begun.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Hugin Research Facility
October 13, 2197
1915 z
Mars, Sol
Bravo Company was deployed along a slight ridge in a two-hundred-meter arc with First and Second Platoons on the line, and Third Platoon to the rear. Captain Optika had stationed himself within First Platoon, keeping himself from being in the center of the formation. Lying prone, gazing at the carnage beneath him, he could see that he had been right about the facility's marine detachment. They definitely had laid out a warm welcome for the Xan-Sskarns. There were dozens of bodies. Some of the Xan-Sskarns, mostly those directly in front of the main entrance, had been so badly torn apart as to make it impossible to identify individual bodies.
"This is Bravo Actual," Optika called over the company's command net, his call sign identifying him as Bravo Company Commander. "Report."
"This is One Actual. We're in position," Lieutenant Rook reported.
"Two Actual, in position," came Lieutenant Burnette.
"Three Actual, ready to roll," Luthi said from behind him, the anxious tone in her voice unmistakable.
"Acknowledged, wait one," Optika told his platoon commanders. He wanted to wait for Corporal Clark to get into position before moving.
While he waited, he took the time to inspect the marines around him. Each of them was outfitted in combat suits and gear identical to his own.
First was a form-fitting bodysuit of semihardened synthetic material that provided protection in a variety of environments without sacrificing mobility. The suit was coated with a skin of what marines called "mimic material." The official name was a long and complex number-and-letter combination that once heard was promptly forgotten. Whatever the name, it was the effect that was important. It could be set to mimic a variety of colors and patterns. The selection was by no means limitless; the current coloring was proof of that. The suits were set to a swirling red and ochre pattern—while not a perfect match to their surroundings, it was close enough to make them difficult to see.
Worn over the suit was an outer layering of hardened armor. A full combination torso and groin piece provided protection to vital areas, while smaller individual pieces covered arms and legs. The armor was also coated in mimic material.
Air supply, helmet, combat harness, and pistol belt completed the outfit. The last two items were loaded down with the tools of war.
Each marine in the company also carried two rifles and a pistol. Normally, one or the other of the two rifles would be used, depending on the mission.
The pulse rifle, firing magnetically accelerated rounds of depleted uranium at a respectable fraction of the speed of light, was a perfect weapon for open-field engagements or inside a ship or facility where collateral damage was not a concern. Pulse-rifle rounds had a tendency to punch holes in anything they hit, including bulkheads and hulls.
For situations where shooting a structure full of holes was not an option, the flechette rifle was employed. A cloud of very small, needle-sharp metal darts was expelled from the barrel with each stroke of the trigger. While not very effective over long ranges, or against full body armor, they were horribly effective at close ranges against lightly armored or unarmored targets. A person hit at a range of ten meters by a flechette-rifle burst was turned into so much chopped meat.
Their mission called for both weapons. The pulse rifles would be used if they needed to fight their way into the facility. Once inside, the marines would switch over to the flechette rifles. They didn't want to risk hitting any of the personnel they were there to rescue, nor did they want their weapons' fire to inadvertently destroy the information they were there to retrieve. Once the civilians and data were secured, however, all bets were off, and the pulse rifles would make their presence known once again. And if it came down to fighting with their flechette pistols, they were in trouble.
After a few minutes of waiting, Optika's earpiece crackled to life.
"
This is Romeo Three One. Objective in site."
Romeo Three One—Clark was still using her original call sign, identifying her as team leader of third fire team, Recon squad. There had not been time for updating call signs for units that were missing members. They could not afford the confusion that would come from using unfamiliar identifiers.
"Roger, Romeo Three One, proceed at own discretion," he radioed back to her, letting her know that she was now on her own. "Out."
Trusting that Clark and her team would be able to handle themselves, Optika directed his attention to the situation before him.
The facility's main entrance opened directly to the west and was wide enough to allow two large surface-effect vehicles to pass through at once. The entrance was also currently closed. Optika surmised that once the Xan-Sskarns had cleared out all the traps and silenced the fixed defenses, they managed to override the door's locking mechanism. If that was the case, they had more than likely rendered it useless.
If they trashed the door mechanism, well, that's why we have breaching charges.
"One, proceed to the north. Two, south. Scouts out in front," he told his platoon commanders. "And make sure everyone treads softly. The Sallys have had time to leave us a few surprises."
Optika listened as his subordinates radioed back their comprehension. He took a moment to listen in on each of their platoon nets to get an idea of how they were going to deploy their marines.
Once he had assured himself that he had a good idea of where the men and women of First and Second Platoon were, he switched to Third Platoon's net.
"Three, move up to my position." He wanted his armored platoon close enough to support the advance, should it be needed.
A red-and-ochre-patterned suit of armor dropped down beside him. He couldn't see the face behind the polarized faceplate, but the black rank insignia painted on the chest told him it was Third Platoon's commander, Lieutenant Luthi. Being encased in a full suit of pseudomuscular-enhanced armor made it difficult, if not impossible, to read a person's mood, unless one knew the wearer of the suit well. Optika knew his lieutenant quite well and could tell from the way she was hunched forward, fingers drumming on the ground, that she was eager to press the attack. Cutting into her direct net, he tried to reassure her.
"Sandy, relax. Once First and Second are in position, I'll move you up and have you set the air locks and breach the doors. Then things will get interesting."
"I know, sir, but I just hate waiting, especially knowing that there might be people still alive in there."
"It grates on me, too, but we won't do anyone any good if we get ourselves chopped before we can even get inside."
His words seemed almost prophetic as he heard his First Platoon commander shout over the company net.
"Contact! Two men down, moving to engage."
"Easy there, Luthi." Optika held on to her arm, knowing that it was his presence, and not the pressure on her arm, that stopped her. If she wanted to go, there was nothing he could do to stop her. He switched to the command net.
"Two Actual, take cover and wait for orders, Three Actual, remain in position."
He listened to both officers acknowledge his orders before he cut into First Platoon's net, listening to the situation but not interrupting.
"Two-one, move your squad into position and lay down suppressing fire and try to locate the shooters," Lieutenant Rook barked, getting his marines to move and respond to the ambush. "Three-one, take your squad thirty meters to the north. Then I want a right echelon on line. Advance until you make contact. One-one, get the wounded and pull back."
There were no acknowledgments over the net, but Optika could see the platoon move to follow Rook's orders. He also saw that first squad now had four wounded, none of which seemed too serious as all four of them were mobile, albeit with assistance.
"Target!" an unidentified voice called out over the platoon's net. "Looks to be a Sally manjack."
Both humans and Xan-Sskarns shared some of the same types of weapons, and the manjack, an emplaced gun with a simple yet effective targeting system, was one of them. When the weapon's sensors detected movement, the manjack went active, seeking out the movement and opening fire, prioritizing targets based on proximity to itself. They could consist of a variety of weapons, but this particular manjack appeared to be an automatic flechette gun. Anything else would not have left survivors at such close range.
"Take it out," Rook ordered without hesitation.
There was a small crump, and a ball of smoke began to rise from the north.
"Target eliminated," an unidentified voice reported.
"Good job. Where was it?"
"Looks like the Sallys dug a small pit then put parts of their dead on and around it to hide it."
"First Actual to Second Actual." Rook contacted his fellow platoon leader to pass on the discovery.
"This is Second Actual, go ahead," Lieutenant Burnette's young voice responded.
"Have found Sally manjacks, dug in and concealed by body parts. Recommend you probe with fire."
"Roger, thanks for the warning, First. Second out."
Captain Optika watched as Lieutenant Rook's suggestion was enacted by both platoons.
Marine platoons no longer carried rocket launchers in this day and age. After all, a pulse-rifle round traveling at a significant fraction of the speed of light delivered more destructive power in the form of kinetic energy when it impacted than any portable rocket ever could.
As rifle fire flashed out from both platoons and hypervelocity rounds punched their way through the already-dead enemy, they were rewarded by more than one new explosion.
While the firing continued, Optika contacted Rook for a status on his casualties.
"Three wounded. One superficial—the other two need evac." Rook's voice lost some of its professional edge as he finished. "One dead."
"Who?"
"PFC LeBeau. He caught a burst on his right side at close range. Tore through his femoral. He bled out before the doc could patch it."
"Understood." Optika's voice took on a slightly softer tone as well. "Pull your wounded back to my position. We'll move them back to the shuttles."
"Roger, they're on the way now."
When the firing had ceased, Optika had First and Second Platoons continue on to their objectives. While they were doing that, the wounded arrived, supported by their comrades. Optika indicated that they could let the wounded rest there and the hale could return to the platoon.
"Sandy, pull two guards off the shuttles and get them to come and pick up the wounded."
"Sir, that'll leave the shuttles with only two guards left."
"I know, but it's a small risk." Optika waved a hand toward the facility. "If the Sallys were going to do something, they would have done it already. I think they're all busy inside."
"Yeah, I'm sure they are." Hate laced her voice. There was a moment's silence before she came back to him. "They're on their way in now, sir. ETA two minutes."
Optika was still impressed with how quickly something as cumbersome-looking as combat armor could move.
"Good. It looks like First and Second are in position, so when they get here, we'll move up."
"Roger that, sir."
He half listened in as Lieutenant Luthi got her platoon ready to move, the bulk of his attention on what was about to come.
This was the easy part, and we were damn lucky to get off as light as we did. But once we breach those doors, things are going to get much, much worse.
* * *
Moving up with her Third Platoon, Lieutenant Luthi was relieved that the journey was uneventful. It appeared that the marine detachment had kept the Sallys busy long enough to ensure that they didn't have the time to set any more traps for the company. She only hoped that there were some still resisting inside the facility.
"Three Actual, place your charges and get those locks in place," Optika ordered over the net. "First Actual, Second Actual, keep an eye on our fl
anks. I don't like it when things go this smoothly."
She signaled an affirmative.
Luthi watched as the charges were placed on three different locations of the facility's entrance door. The long, thick, ropelike substance was formed into an oval, large enough for an armored marine to walk through without having to duck, on the door. The breaching charges in place, more members of Third Platoon moved forward to assemble the portable air locks. They were trapezoidal and made of transparent plastic. The air-lock door at the base was large enough to accommodate one fire team at a time, or two armored marines. The top of the trapezoid was attached to the facility door by use of a molecular adhesive.
Once the locks were assembled and attached to the facility door, two armored marines moved into the newly created room between the facility door and the air lock, while two more remained in the air-lock entrance. Once all the marines were in place, detonators were inserted into the charges.
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