by George Olney
Lane was calm about the death fight. Naraka might take a hit that would penetrate her tough body all the way to the flag bridge, but there was nothing he could do about that. Combat was now in the hands of his subordinate commanders and the Lord Above.
Another tactical monitor showed him a rough schematic of a vicious battle spread out over hundreds of millions of square kilomeasures. The schematic showed him something a closer view couldn't.
The Cluster was winning. The major engagements were slowly but surely ending in the Cluster's favor and the Imperial Fleet was steadily being ground to fragments.
There was still plenty of action for the pocket battleships and fighters as they cleared near space over Central. The time was coming for the troop drop. He touched a sensor. //"Go ahead and order the troop carriers into position."//
CLUSTER FLEET
CENTRAL NEAR SPACE
Aboard Troop Carrier CTC 101, General Jon Malcom was at his post in Ground CIC thinking about his opposite number. His ground force counterpart on Central had to be working frantically and Jon fully understood the man's problems. He wished the bastard more of them. Jon wasn't looking for any kind of fair fight. The less opposition his people had to face, the more of them he was going to bring home. He expected heavy casualties because his units were new, mostly untried in combat, and with leaders yet to be proven. He had his own problems and wanted to launch his troops as soon as possible. The less time the enemy had to prepare, the better.
"Patience, Jon" Shyranne said next to him. "We can't do anything until the Fleet clears the way."
"Is it always like this?" he asked her.
Shyranne looked at him a little sadly. "Always. We have to get down fast for the best chance of survival, but without the Fleet clearing space, assault shuttles couldn't survive. So we wait. And worry. Every hour we delay costs lives on the ground, but that delay is necessary for us to survive the drop."
Jon looked at her for a moment, thinking about the dilemma, realizing deep down for the first time what it meant to command troops in combat. He also understood Shyranne's expression now. "Thanks," he said ironically. "That just makes me feel so much better."
#####
The enemy was nearly gone from Central near space.
As SOC and someone with more experience in this kind of operation than the Army, Shyranne was overall ground commander. It was her job to determine when to launch the troops. The Strike platoons were already on their way to their missions and the main force was waiting for her order. "It's time," she said softly.
Jon heard something different in her voice. It was her normal soft tones, but there was something else there. He turned to look at her curiously and was slightly shocked. She looked back at him with her jaw jutting forward and fire in her eyes. "The Emperor and his minions killed my people despite the fact they were loyal. That's when the Emperor and all of his became the Predator. We are coming to kill them. The time is now, General. Gladio alieyo."
A chill ran down Jon's spine as he heard her softly spoken words.
She reached out and touched a sensor on the board next to her. //"All troop carriers begin launch. Launch, launch, launch. Launch, launch, launch. Launch, launch, launch."//
She switched to the all hands Corps band. //"It is our time, people. The Gladius is coming to Central to kill the Predator. We have seen our enemy and we know him. He will not see the dawn."// As it had been for a millennia, a woman once again sent the Gladius to war.
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The troop carriers edged into launch position, with the exception of the command ship, CTC 101, and the one solely dedicate to carrying reconstruction teams, CTC 114. Twelve of the big ships swung into orbit and began punching out assault shuttles. There were still heavy defenses active down there and the faster they could launch, the safer the big troop carriers and thousands of troops would be.
Shuttle pilots swiftly formed up then headed down. The assault shuttles dived towards their LZs at near maximum velocity and straight in, weaving and bobbing, to give Central's anti-air defenses minimum time to engage. It wasn't safe, but it was the safest way they could get their troop loads to their destinations.
One Corps legion and all of the Army divisions were headed for the New Forces on the second continent. The other four legions were headed for Imperial City and its surrounding area. Those four legions were wondering what they were going to find on the ground, but expecting anything.
Corps expectations were going to live down to their usual dismal level. Currently unknown to Ground CIC, five Guard legions, long lost cousins of the present day Gladius, were taking up positions to protect the Emperor and, secondarily, Imperial City. There was a vicious family fight coming.
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Three Guard frigates came in under full suppresser and very slowly, which meant that nobody knew they were there until they fired on CTC 106, knocking out half its launchers and killing several thousand Army troops. Killing the three frigates cost a fighter and two pocket battleships.
The frigates accomplished part of their objective. The tightly coordinated launch was disrupted, not least by CTC 106 staggering out of orbit but continuing to belch out whatever undamaged Army shuttles she had left in her launch queues. As he surveyed the damage to his carefully managed launch formation, now being interpenetrated by fighters from both sides, Commodore Aln Mson's first thought was, "What a mosh fuck!" As commander of the TCs and troop launch, he grimly started bringing order out of chaos. Fighters, pocket battleships, and defensive guns on the troop carriers were fiercely battling a swarm of determined Impie fighters still trying to get to his carriers and shuttles. It looked as though the landings were going to be even more scattered and disrupted than normally expected. Ground fire tended to spread and disrupt landings, but those triple-damned frigates had really made a hash of things. Get it fixed, Aln, and get those troops DOWN!
Shyranne was thinking much the same thing. What happened in space happened. Right now, the job of Ground CIC was to let commanders know what to expect when they hit dirt, not offer useless suggestions. Khev, as overall Corps tactical commander, was issuing rapid fire orders to his section of CIC. On the Army side, Jon Malcom was proving himself to be a good commander in the only circumstance that truly tested command - when things fell apart.
Intelligence boards lit up as scout reports began pouring into Ground CIC. Imperial troops were suddenly moving into and around Imperial City, definitely identified as the Emperor's Guard. From scout reports listing unit types, formations, and equipment, there were at least...
"Five legions!" Khev said and swore. Where in hell had that many come from? The Imperial breeding program must be far larger than expected. It made sense, seeing how many Guards were suddenly showing up in space, among other unpleasant surprises. "Notify all legions of the amount and nature of the opposition," Khev said to his communication section. "Send a digest of available information directly to Legates, details to Legion Intelligence sections."
His mouth quirked. Shit happened in battle, especially in the one this was shaping up to be. Jon's folks were going to have their hands full with the New Forces. That was why he'd assigned the Augusta as a supplement to the Army. Now it looked like the Valeria, the Victrix, the Rapax and the Ferrata were going to have just as much fun. Shit. Then he took a deep breath. Situations like this were why the Corps existed. "Transmit my complements to the Legates," he ordered. "Include my wishes that they enjoy their tour of beautiful Imperial City. Oh, and forward any responses to me except the obscene ones."
The Legions were back in a shitty situation. Just another wonderful day in the Corps.
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The situation on the second continent was confused. Due to the landing disruption, several Cluster divisions were scattered and three others were intermixed. Assault shuttle pilots did their best, but simple physics was against them in many cases. They could have flown NOE to their original LZs, but heavy small caliber fire was making that difficult and increasing
the chances of killing a shuttle with its full load of troops. That would be a Bad Thing. Inevitably, every shuttle pilot made the same decision. Balanced against a high probability of loss, any ground was better than the right ground if it meant risking troop loads.
A number of Cluster Army units found themselves in unfamiliar terrain, with unfamiliar objectives, but they'd had excellent training and they were looking for someone to kill. Whatever New Forces units in front or around them would do nicely. Orphan units or even single troops were perfectly willing to work with any other Army unit they found to accomplish that highly desirable objective. Training began to tell.
To the Augusta, things were screwed up on the ground but there was nothing new in that. They began to get themselves organized with veteran speed. The Legate was in full control of his legion and things were progressing nicely. He wondered what unholy mess the Army was eventually going to call on him to unfuck.
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The other four legions were down, deployed around Imperial City and in heavy contact with the Emperor's guard. Things were going, but not smoothly. The Guard was inexperienced in major unit ground tactics, something obvious to the Corps, but they were fanatical and good fighters.
It was already apparent to Sergeant First Class Span that this wasn't going to be easy. The platoon already had two wounded and one KIA, and the Victrix was only into their second hour of the battle. He was on the far side of the platoon's weave as they swung across the area where they were in contact, but keeping a close eye on his platoon leader's icon in his HUD. New single pip, but the boy was going to be all right if he lived through this.
Span was checking the century commander's directional arrow on his HUD to ensure Fourth Platoon was in its proper position in the century weave pattern when the flood of yellow icons symbolizing Guard troops suddenly thickened and things began to get nasty. He zigged, fast. Two bolts zinged past, penetrating empty space where he used to be, and Span's two team members sent a few rounds back. Just keep moving. Speed was life in close combat.
His helmet com came to life. //"Sergeant Span, ---"// The transmission was cut off. Span's Link felt it, but the HUD confirmed his feeling. He no longer had a lieutenant. He was in command of Fourth Platoon. He was also about to be enveloped.
As he wove and ran, he contacted the century heavy weapons section. //"2-5-6, 2-4-5. Fire mission. Data sent... now. Danger close."// He was calling for supporting fire on top of his position. Not good, but they were already in the shit. Some of the boys were already using axes and he had another man down KIA.
//"4-5, 5-6. Shot."//
//"2-4, DOWN! Freeze!"// Span hit the dirt just as the ground erupted around his position. All he could do was lie there and hope his platoon made it through all right. His HUD said the Guard was catching hell. He could feel it through the Link when an antipersonnel rocket landed nearly on top of Simns, but there was nothing he could do about it. The Guards around him were catching it worse. Not many Guards left. Less, after Fourth Platoon got back up.
#####
Victrix Command Group was in a relatively stationary location, moving only when necessary. It was nearly impossible to command and coordinate a legion while on the move, as much as Karl wished he could. They were established in a partially protected area, a small crater flanked by the ruins of a building's wall. The security guard platoon had the area ringed, but, like any Gladius, each and every one of them was nervous at being in one place too long. The problem, Karl thought, was that they were now into heavily built up area on the outskirts of the City itself. Not unknown territory for a legion, but a pain in the ass tactically, none the less.
Karl put his worries aside and studied his field monitors. There was trouble building in Second Cohort's sector. It looked like the Guard was trying to push a wedge into his area. He called Second's Commander, Saml Evns. //"Sam, Karl. What's the story on that penetration in your sector?"//
//"Strong, Karl. Feels like a full legion is trying to punch through."//
//"Can you swing your weak side through the tip of that penetration just behind their lead units? Cut the point off?"//
//"Aye, but it won't stay cut. They've got too much force following that lead element."//
//"Right. Let's do this instead. Go ahead and drift back, but hold the left flank of that push. I'll bring up Al Lumis's Fifth Cohort to hold the point and right flank. We need to keep maximum force holding that penetration for a little while. I'll set up a fire sack just behind Al. When I tell you, punch over to Al's boys at the rear of the penetration and close it off. What ever gets through will be in the fire sack. That's when I'll drop in heavy artillery. Stand by for further orders because I'm going to put both you and Al right into the middle of their follow on forces as soon as we kill whatever portion of that Guard legion we catch in the sack."//
//"Aye. Do Al good to have something he can butt his head against. He's been having it too easy in the last hour or so."//
//"I'll tell him you said that when I give him his orders. Piss him off good. He'll take it out on the Guard. Out."//
Legion Sergeant Major Olmeg was leaving the battlefield to the Legate. Instead, he was in constant motion, checking the Command Group perimeter. The security platoon was doing its job, but any trooper, even a junior officer, would be more alert if he knew the Legion Sergeant Major was looking hard over his shoulder. Besides, it felt worthwhile to be back in a combat environment again. He wasn't battle happy and he didn't love fighting, but, as much body part regeneration as he'd piled up in his long life, it was good to know he was still a decent fighting soldier.
"Watch out, Lieutenant," the Sergeant Major growled as he found the security platoon commander. "There are reports of leakers and suicide teams all over the area. These Guard bastards love to hide and come out behind you. They don't care if they get their asses waxed after they hit. Just killing you is enough for them."
"Aye, Sergeant Major," the Lieutenant said absently as he watched the perimeter schematic on his helmet HUD. Was this old fart ever going to stop trying to tell him his business?
The Sergeant Major's warning suddenly took real shape as a hole opened up just behind where they were talking. Ten or so Guardsmen poured out of it and began firing in all directions. One of the security platoon's troopers died in that moment, but the others were now in action. So was the rest of the Command Group. The larger battle momentarily shrunk to just a few dozen square measures of ground as bolt fire crisscrossed and bodies dodged in every direction.
There were screams of "Ave Keesar!" everywhere, the Guard battlecry. The Gladii didn't waste their breath. The attackers were dying hard, one to a bolt from the Legate's pistol. They were causing casualties, but dying. One, larger than most, took an ax swing at a security platoon trooper that had let his combat awareness fatally lapse. The Gladius, focused on killing another Guardsman, lost part of his arm.
At least it wasn't the kid's leg, the Sergeant Major thought as he jumped towards the Guardsman. Usually, when a Gladius lost something, it was a leg. Happened to him five times. So had this situation, plenty of times.
Olmeg flipped his helmet face plate up to show his face to the enemy, seeing the Guardsman do likewise to accept the challenge. Older man, maybe senior decurion. Good. Meeting of equals. The Sergeant Major mentally chided himself because this wasn't the smart way to fight, but something deep inside him wanted this single combat to prove he was still a whole soldier, despite his banged up body. Show the children how it was done.
The lieutenant was standing over the smoking body of a Guardsman that had wandered in front of his B-42. He checked the area and it looked clear of the Guard for the moment. One of his men had already collapsed the hole with a plasma grenade. He looked up to see the Sergeant Major and the Guardsman square off. Stupid. Use your gun, you old bastard. The Sergeant Major was fighting dumb.
At least that was what he thought until the first pass the two made at each other. The action was literally too fast to follow, b
ut the lieutenant was certain the Sergeant Major was using ax moves he'd never even seen before! The Guardsman was good, too. Both men had armor cuts, but the one on the Guardsman's chest plate was deeper and longer. It dawned on the young lieutenant that Legion Sergeant Major Olmeg was a blue ribbon soldier and the other one was damn near as good. He decided he didn't want to be between the two. Unhealthy.
After their first brush, Olmeg and the Guardsman paused for a second to measure each other. Each knew he was fighting an equal, an old master in the art of killing. There was respect, and grim resolution, between them.
"Ave Keesar." The words were spoken quietly.
"Gladio alieyo." The return was just as quiet.
Again, the Guardsman made the first cobra-quick leap. This time, as the Sergeant Major dodged to one side and crouched to avoid the Guardsman's swing, he twisted to avoid the thrown short sword that just missed his chest. The sword returned to its owner, but Olmeg was right behind it. There's a momentary distraction, even in the best, when a Gladius throws his blade. The Sergeant Major counted on that. His own short sword stabbed deep into the Guardsman's chest, followed by his ax to remove the Guardsman's arm and abort the dying ax swing that would have killed him along with his enemy.
Sergeant Major Olmeg reached down and gently closed the dead Guardsman's face plate with respect. He looked up to see the surrounding Gladii, including the Legate, frozen in place and staring at him. "Don't you people have a battle to fight?" he growled.
CHAPTER 16
IMPERIAL CITY
Using the massive space battles around Central as a cover, Strike platoons were inserted into Imperial City immediately before the troop landings in an operation that had been a major headache during planning. Strike was urgently needed on the ground because Imperial City held a large number of "targets of interest" requiring old fashioned eyeball investigation or someone to physically secure them before the main force arrived. Those were normal Strike missions, but the key words were "before the main force arrived". Strike dogs had to be on the ground early, and the Cluster staff didn't want to alert the Imperials that someone was creeping around their backyard with fell intent.