He tapped the headset again and said, "Command radio." After the chime, he continued, "Marine Six, Enforcer Six Actual."
The voice of General Lane came back over the line. "Marine Six Actual, go ahead."
"Enforcer battalion is ready sir. The boys are fired up and ready to shoot."
"Understood. I'm tying you into the group net now." Dekker heard a squeal of static and then the voice of Colonel Mason confirming last minute adjustments in his formation as they prepared to move off the line of departure. When he was finished, General Lane said, "Badger Six, report."
Lt. Simmons, her soft voice crisp and precise, replied, "Marine Six, we don't have any updates for you sir. We'll conduct a recon in force on the right and set up a patrol to monitor the Guards' lines of communication."
"Understood," Lane said. "Stand by for my signal. Break. Two Bravo Delta, report."
Dekker couldn't help feeling a dull stab of remorse when Major Walker's voice filled his headset. "Right behind you General. We're all set here, just say the word."
"Remember, Major, you are a contingent. Stay put unless I give you the word. Hopefully all you'll have to do today is watch."
"Roger that, General. Can't say we like watching, but I'll keep the reins tight."
"You do that. Marines, stand by for attack. Marine Six out."
Dekker's headset hissed and then went silent. There was nothing left to say. The air grew still as he waited for the signal for the fight to begin. A low chime sounded in his headset, a final warning and the last chance for any of the battalion commanders to report any last minute problems. Nobody said a word. After five seconds of dead silence, an electronic chime sounded five times, followed by a final one-second dual modulated frequency tone that told him and everyone in the MEF to start moving. His men, stretched out in a line a half-mile wide, stood up and started walking into the Highlands. At the same time, the air filled with the chattering roar of machine guns and the steel ring of rounds leaving their mortar tubes.
A voice spiked with urgency called out over the radio. "Flash! Infantry company strength 1000 meters front. Four tangos behind another 500. Engaging." The transmission cut off. A moment later, he heard the crack of rifle fire and the eerie pulse of plasma rounds searing the air as they flew into the face of the enemy already advancing on them from the crest of the Highlands.
Jommy
Emmet Ford felt his bones creak as he stood up. He was scanning the withering plants of his plot when the sound of battle rolled in like a wall of thunder - just far enough away that he knew they were still safe, but close enough that there was no way to tell for how long. His son stood on a mound overlooking the valley of the Military Exclusion Zone and watched the battle.
"Jommy", he called out. "Get down off a' there and come help me." The boy ignored him. The man grunted and let out a long sigh, then ambled across his plot to join his son. The crack of small arms fire floated past them as Marines trundled across the flat ground between their compound and the fertile grounds of the Highlands. A sudden flash erupted at top of the Highlands, its thunder rolling over them moments later. The Marines lurched forward in loose lines as they advanced against the Terran Guard. Vehicles followed behind them, but there weren't as many as there used to be. The years of wind and sand had scraped most of their markings off so they couldn't tell which units they belonged to anymore.
Just as the Marines reached the Highlands, the crest at the top of its long slope seemed to come alive as a wave of Terran Guards emerged from behind the other side.
"Oh God," Emmet said. He clasped Jommy's hand, hoping the boy wouldn't understand what he was seeing, knowing that he couldn't hide it from him, either. The Terran Line looked like a long black snake that stretched all the way across the expanse of the Highlands. Their weapons didn't produce any smoke or flash, but Emmet knew they had fired a furious fusillade when Marines started falling to the ground while the rest dropped down to hug the ground. Puffs of smoke shot out from where the Marines were lying down as they fired back, but the black snake inched forward, flowing down the slope of the Highlands like the headwaters of an oozing flood.
"Why don't they use the Cats?" Jommy asked, pointing at Major Walker's company of twelve robotic war machines standing quietly in the MEF compound. Formally designated as the C-2B Combined Advanced Technology Enhanced Fire and Maneuver Assembly, the Cataphract stood fifty feet above the ground, glistening with black paint and the outline of a lance stenciled underneath its cockpit perched on top. Each one carried two massive plasma cannons and two rotary guns that fired 120 mm steel bolts from a belt feed. Armor plating covered virtually every surface to protect the titanium skeleton and the complex of gyros, hydraulics, compressed air and computer systems that the pilot used to maneuver the behemoth and bring its weapons to bear. For the moment, they didn't move, as if they were watching the battle - spectators like him and his boy, waiting to see how it came out. Emmet shuddered as more Marines flopped over while the snake advanced steadily towards them.
He jerked back when a bright flash erupted on the near side of the Marine line, followed by a billowing orange ball of fire. Tanks crested the top of the Highlands on either side of the Terran line and fired into the vehicles the Marines had deployed to either side of their line.
Emmet turned away from the battle and surveyed the other plots that populated the dry land of their last reserve - a place they simply called Dirt Hill. The plastic modular huts that looked like freight containers cast shadows over withering plants as the Shoahn' sun rose over the morning horizon. Another peal of thunder rolled over him from the valley below.
He couldn't help wondering how long it would be before the tanks were up on Dirt Hill ripping their huts from the ground. He closed his eyes and whispered:
"That they shall not perish."
Dekker's Charge
The hum of electric coils from magnetic rail guns filled the air. A Lance Corporal poked his head up and sighted a line of four Terran Guard soldiers kneeling in a tight line as they swept his fire team with a steady stream of steel slugs cracking the air just inches above their heads. Pinned down, the Marines fired back blindly, desperately trying to establish fire superiority.
"God dammit, we're supposed to be suppressing them," he shouted. "Four left 100 meters watch for my marker." He swung his plasma rifle towards the enemy troops and fired. The chamber of compressed thermite plasma hit one of the Terran Guards square in the chest and incinerated the man in a blinding blue flash. "Right there, right there!" the Lance Corporal screamed. The other three Marines in his fire team raised up on one knee and leveled their rifles at the targets. Unlike the Lance Corporal, they fought back with technology that had proven effective for centuries: gun powder, lead and brass. The fire team collectively took a breath and held it before squeezing off their rounds. The Terran Guards lurched back as bullets tore through their chests in a burst of bone and blood. The Lance Corporal quickly scanned the line. "There's a gap. Move it -"
Before he could finish his command, a magnetic mortar round landed just behind his foot, ejecting its casing to unleash a flurry of shrapnel that cut down the riflemen just as they started to run. Twenty meters away, the squad sergeant waved his arm and yelled, "Close it up! Close up the line!" Marines shuffled into position where the mortar had landed, stretching out the distance between the squad's two remaining fire teams. They reflexively hugged the ground behind the meager defilade offered by the Highlands as more steel slugs peppered the ground around them. They dug at the ground with their boots and ground their bodies into the dirt to try and dig even an inch deeper.
The squad sergeant tapped his headset and yelled, "Weapons!" After a brief pause, he continued, "Whiskey Fox, Bravo One Sierra, immediate suppression, phase line Victor plus one zero zero, left two zero, infantry danger close, fire for effect when ready." After making his call for fire, all the sergeant could hear was a squeal in his headset as more calls poured in over the weapons net for fire support.
The sergeant rolled onto his back, keeping his body flat against the ground. He gulped harder for each breath as an endless stream of slugs shredded the air inches from his face. Looking down the line at both fire teams, he saw his men covering their heads as they flattened themselves against the ground behind the soft rolls of defilade between them and the enemy. "Hang in there fellas!" he shouted between breaths. "Just give me a second." He grunted and pulled open the flap to one of the bags slung over his shoulder and pulled out a plastic grip. He flipped up a small monitor on top which showed the ground at his feet. If he could point the thing over the lip of defilade, he could lay the crosshairs on the troops who had his Marines pinned to the ground. If he could do that, he could pull the trigger and fire a beacon dart that the weapons company could home in on with their mortars. The sergeant ran through the sequence in his head. Pop up. Point. Designate. In the time it would take to do all that, he saw himself getting shot at least twice. The rage of steel tearing at the space above him slowed down. Maybe they were reloading? He peeked over the defilade, swung the spotter gun up, pointed it in the general direction of where he thought the enemy was and squeezed the trigger. He didn't take the time to lay the crosshairs and he sure as hell didn't take the time to watch the dart arc out and hit the ground. He ducked back down just as more slugs chewed at the ground in front of him.
The sergeant watched his fire teams as they continued to squirm, trying to press themselves ever deeper into the ground as the enemy fire intensified. He knew that if they were pinned down much longer, some of his Marines would suddenly find that fatalistic place in their mind where danger no longer existed and compelled them to get up and run straight for the enemy. Others would do just the opposite, cowering as fear overwhelmed them and promised death around every corner. "Come on, come on," he said through gritted teeth.
The ground 150 meters to his front exploded as friendly mortar rounds tracked in to his marker. "That's it boys, return fire!"
His Marines poked their rifles over the defilade, straining to site targets through the dust and smoke left behind by the mortar round. Just as they leveled their weapons on the hazy outline of troops hidden behind the veil of smoke, more steel slugs cracked through the air. A Marine lurched back as a slug slammed into his face. Another dropped his weapon when a slug tore his arm away at the shoulder. He fell back, screaming, while the other two Marines in his fire team flopped to the ground behind their defilade. "Corpsman!" one of them yelled.
A corpsman who had been huddling behind the main formation crawled up to the screaming Marine and pulled a recovery kit from the small pack slung on his back. The Marine looked at him with eyes wide and stopped screaming long enough to grab the corpsman's arm and say, "No!"
The corpsman slapped the Marine's arm aside and slammed the kit onto his chest. "Not up to you, Marine." He unhooked a red handle with a squeeze trigger from the kit and strung out the attached wire. He scampered back a few feet and squeezed the trigger. A thin haze of orange light spread out from the kit and over the Marine's body. It's glow intensified and then flashed away. The Marine was gone.
The sergeant grabbed the boom of his headset mic and yelled, "One Six, Second Squad is pinned down by Gauss and mortars. We are displacing left. First team down. Enemy platoon strength, front 50." He flailed his arm and yelled at the remaining men in his squad. "Move it down, move it down!" He grabbed the nearest Marine and shoved him down the line. "Move!"
As the remaining Marines in his squad scampered behind the low ridge of defilade, the chatter of a heavy machine gun filled the air behind him. He peeked over the defilade to see friendly rounds peppering the ground 50 meters to their front. The smoke from the mortar round had cleared enough that he could see there were no targets anywhere near where it had landed. The bullets dug into the ground and kicked up clumps of dirt and patches of dried grass, but did nothing to push back the enemy he could not find.
"Troops left!" somebody screamed. He turned to see a squad of twelve Terran Guards bearing down on their left flank. As the hum of their rail guns spooled up, he leveled his rifle on the nearest one and pulled the trigger. The enemy soldier lurched back as his chest imploded. The sergeant pulled the trigger again and heard nothing but a click. The Marines closest to the advancing squad reeled back as steel slugs ripped into them in a hail of enfilading fire.
"Ah hell," he said. He ripped the magazine from his rifle and grabbed a fresh magazine from a pouch on his belt and shoved it into the action. The enemy squad riddled the last Marine in his squad with slugs as he shouldered his weapon and took aim. He pulled the trigger, sending one of them flying back. Aiming for the next target, he took a breath just as a steel slug slammed into his face.
Dekker's gut tightened as Terran Guard troops spilled in behind his men and split his battalion's line into two sections. The enemy was already forming skirmish lines to work the shoulders of the breach while his own men fell back, firing as they retreated back towards the line of departure. His Marines ran across the flat ground between the Highlands and the perimeter bunkers, with nothing to protect them against the troops kneeling in a firing line and angling their weapons at their backs. Dekker couldn't tell when the Guard troops fired - their weapons only made a faint clacking noise when the electromagnetic rails slung their rounds through the barrel. It was only when his Marines started to pitch forward and fall to the ground with their faces in the dirt that he knew for sure they were firing. One group continued to push back the flanks of his troops still fighting to hold the Highlands, pitching their bodies aside with a grinding hail of enfilade fire. The other group mowed down those trying to flee across the flats. Some made it to the bunkers, but most were either lying still or clawing at the ground, dragging themselves through their own blood even as more slugs chewed at the ground around them.
Dekker unslung the plasma rifle from his shoulder and extended the bipod latched to the barrel. He flopped to the ground and shouldered the weapon. An enemy soldier was gunning down one of his fire teams struggling to reset its own skirmish line on the flat ground between Dekker and the Highlands. He pulled the trigger. The plasma bolt streaked through the air and consumed the soldier with a flash of blue flame. The enemy soldier next to him looked at Dekker and the ground spat up a chunk of dried clay next to Dekker's boot. He pulled the slide bolt on the receiver to chamber another thermite plasma cartridge. He adjusted his aim and squeezed the trigger as another steel slug dug into the ground inches from his other boot. The second target burst into flame.
Just as he reached up to pull the bolt back again, a hand gripped his shoulder. He looked over his shoulder to see Captain Brandt glaring at him. "What the fuck are you doing, sir?"
"I'm engaging the enemy, what are you doing?" Dekker wrested his shoulder free and reached for the bolt. Captain Brandt put both hands on Dekker's shoulders and pulled him to his feet. The next slug ricocheted off the ground next to the plasma rifle. Captain Brandt grabbed the weapon and pulled Dekker along as he ran back towards the bunkers of the assembly area. "We're running the wrong way you know!" Dekker shouted.
"Yeah. Do it faster!" Brandt yelled back. Slugs peppered the ground at their fee as they ran for the nearest bunker. More slugs snapped through the air above them as they hopped into the bunker and crouched down behind its concrete berm.
Dekker yanked the plasma rifle from Brandt and set it on the berm. He pulled back the bolt and fired at a group of Terran Guards gunning down another fire team that had fallen back to the flat ground. The round impacted just in front of the enemy, causing them to displace and reset their aim. Dekker pulled the bolt back to chamber the last plasma cartridge. He took a breath and held it. His last round flew across the ground and slammed into an enemy soldier's leg. He heard a woman's shriek as she spun and fell on her back with blue flames wrapping around h
er body. He squeezed his eyes shut and looked away.
Dekker tapped his headset and said, "Command Radio." Even before the confirmation chimed in, he started talking. "Marine Six Enforcer Six Actual. Where are the other battalions?"
"As you were Colonel. First and Third are working into position. Resistance is stronger than expected. They'll get there."
"Marine Six, we're losing the line. If they're going to do something about it, they need to do it now."
"You hold that line, Colonel. The rest are coming. Marine Six out."
Dekker switched to his battalion net. "Whiskey Six, Enforcer Six, over."
"Whiskey Six, go boss."
"Captain, what's the status on your fire mission?"
"Sir, we're spread a little thin here. I've got a gun team for each company on the line, but everything's tangled up over there."
"What about your mortars?"
"Not unless we want to start killing our own, sir. We're working what we can in the Terran back line, but most of them are up on top of our guys. We're not doing much good."
"Alright Captain. Tell your mortarmen to pick up a rifle and join up with your assault squad. I need you guys to plug that hole in the middle."
"Yes sir."
"Six out."
Dekker reached into a large case strapped to his belt and pulled out his field glasses. He swept the entire line of battle from the far left of the First Battalion to the far right of the Third. He then fixed his gaze on his own battalion as the Marines from his weapons company moved up to join the fray. As he watched his men struggling to establish a line against the onslaught of the Terran Guard, his headset crackled with Lt. Simmons's voice.
The Terran Mandate Page 2