by T. D. Wilson
Missiles were still heading toward targets, but nothing tracked that direction, which meant only one thing. The lake site’s weapons were still active and they had opened fire on the remaining Cilik’ti landers closer to their position.
“Carney!” McGregor yelled to his lieutenant as he pointed in the direction of the lake site. “I thought we put those guns at the lake site on close range fire! Why are they attacking?”
The Marine lieutenant checked his data pad and brought up the guns around the lake site. “We did, sir.” Each gun status showed active in full fire mode. “I don’t understand it.”
“Fix it, Lieutenant, or our people up there are going to get a nasty greetin’ from some pissed-off Tikis!” McGregor bellowed as he glared at his subordinate. He slammed his glasses back into his bag.
After about twenty seconds, the young Marine officer was able to change the guns to the close range support status, but those landers had also launched their plasma bombs and could be landing their troops.
McGregor needed to know if the lake site was compromised, and fast. The lake was remote enough for the shuttles to hide and if things went bad, anyone who managed to hide out could make their way there for an escape. Toronaga’s force was small, so his plan for them was to use as much electronic and natural camouflage as possible to keep hidden. He needed the Tikis focused on him. Four landers could still hold a tremendous amount of equipment. If Cilik’ti troops from the other landers joined them, Toronaga’s force wouldn’t stand a chance.
Running into his makeshift Operations Center on the platform, he tapped his communications officer. “Do we still have satellite access?”
The dark-haired young woman behind the terminal nodded and brought up the link. McGregor valued each of his four young officers, and Lieutenant Searcy had proven to be tech-savvy and a good fighter. “Link’s up. Imaging coming in now.”
McGregor set his bag down and watched the images appear on the lone screen in the room. The weather continued to make it difficult to see what was happening. He changed the imagining to infrared and had to hold back his surprise. Of the eighteen remaining landers from his last count, fifteen were still active. The landers didn’t need to touch down to disembark their troops, but four were positioned on the ground and no longer moving. The remaining signatures were scattered hot spots, proof positive that a lander had been destroyed, with one of them closer to the lake.
His weapon emplacements had done better than he’d hoped, but all the automated guns near the forest had been destroyed. The landers had begun to move westward, engaging more of the colony’s air defenses. As the larger ships moved, he focused on what was left behind, the troops and equipment on the ground. The larger group had managed to deploy a host of vehicles, and McGregor recognized the signature of the bigger ones. The Cilik’ti main battle tanks were a feared sight up close and they had earned their “Shredder” nickname well. Created around a set of twin particle cannons capable of dealing tremendous damage at a range of greater than two kilometers, the huge tanks were kings in battlefields with great visibility. Up close, the tanks used two weapons, small pulse-based cannons for defense against light vehicles and a plasma energy web. It was the latter weapon that had spawned the Shredder nickname among the EDF forces. Once unleashed, the energy matrix expanded, dissecting anyone or anything in its path for thirty meters. The only reprieve EDF troops received was the cycle time for the weapon, but the demoralization of watching your friends being sliced into tiny pieces drove some of the bravest soldiers into flight.
Their hover engine drives offered them great speed and made hostile terrain, like the troublesome rocky and broken ground on Mars, easy to traverse. But McGregor had counted on that. During the war, he’d seen how well the tanks worked in low or no atmosphere environments, but now, the thick air of Cygni and the elements were beating down on them. Under the cover of their landers, the tanks should’ve been gaining ground, but even the smaller armored personnel carriers that ferried several of the powerful Cilik’ti warriors were slowed.
McGregor smiled in satisfaction. His choice of ground was now in his favor, but not all the Cilik’ti were headed his way. The remaining lander moved eastward toward the lake, followed by two Shredders, six of the Cilik’ti APCs and several Cilik’ti warriors on foot.
If he tried to warn the lake site, the Cilik’ti might trace the signal and would know Toronaga was there. McGregor shook his head. He had made his decision. He had to maintain the illusion the camp was deserted. If the Cilik’ti arrived, their infrared sensors would find nothing and should turn back to rejoin the others. He knew Toronaga would be aware that some of the enemy was coming his way, and he had eyes of his own.
The battlefield image faded, and Searcy’s terminal turned red. “Sir, we just lost the satellite feed.” The Marine lieutenant typed furiously, but no avail. “It’s no good, sir. The enemy’s taken down all the ones in range.”
“Searcy, get me our air cover,” he said to his comm officer. “Time to bring the rain.”
McGregor waited for the comm channel to open to the two Raptors from the Armstrong. He knew Hood had stationed them there to be clear of the drop zone and not be caught up in the barrage his air defenses would throw at the Cilik’ti.
“Sir, I’ve raised the fighters on comms,” Searcy told him.
“Overlord to Cover Flight, do you read me?”
“Overlord, this is Cover Flight,” one of the pilots voices responded. “We read you. Deltas eleven and twelve are on station and awaiting your orders.”
“Cover Flight, I’m sending you coordinates of the enemy landers and troops moving to my position. Engage and destroy.” He nodded to Searcy to upload the attack coordinates.
“Coordinates acknowledged, vectoring in now,” Delta eleven replied.
“Sir, I don’t have the satellite feed, but I can tap into the Raptor’s sensors,” Searcy informed him.
“Good. Bring it up.”
Moments later, the command center imager displayed the landscape and identified the two fighters, Delta eleven and twelve, by their call signs Nighthawk and Sandy. To the south of the fighters, he could see the sensor echoes of the fifteen landers covering a large mass of enemy forces on the ground. McGregor left the channel open and listened to the two pilots as they began their attack.
“Sandy,” Nighthawk said, “form on my right and let’s see how many we can take down in the first pass. Be sure to target engines and weapons pods or we’re going to just rattle off their armor. Missiles at first lock and we drop to the deck for guns.”
At one hundred meters out, two sets of missiles launched from the fighters and sped off toward their targets. The hard deck over the terrain was set to two hundred fifty meters. Both fighters accelerated, reaching the new altitude in seconds. Once they reached the deck, they leveled out and engaged their boosters, which were made for quick bursts in atmosphere. The pair reached gun range just as the first missiles slammed into their targets in huge explosions. McGregor could hear explosions in the distance and glanced outside. He could see at least three landers fall in fiery wrecks into the southern ridge that led to the valley just east of the Magellan camp.
McGregor returned to the imager in time to see the fighters pass over the ridge and speed out of range of the Cilik’ti weapons.
“That was awesome, Nighthawk!” Sandy exclaimed over the comms. “Let’s hit ’em again.”
Both fighters slowed and gained altitude. The pilots banked their fighters to the west and prepared for another run.
“They’ll be expecting us this time, Sandy. Let’s keep it tight.”
“Right with you,” Sandy said, his voice ripe with the adrenaline from their first pass.
McGregor smiled at the pilots’ enthusiasm. He admired their courage and wished he was up there with them. They were still outnumbered, and it was only going to get
tougher as the day went on.
* * *
An incessant steam of water dripped on Sanchez’s helmet. The rain had slowed, but it still blew into the bunker and ran down the special thermal dampening tarps the Marines were using to hide their signatures. Unfortunately for Sanchez, he was underneath a small hole in the tarp, and the cool water leaked through, but he paid it little mind. He was more worried about what was going on outside.
The thunder-like rumble in the distance wasn’t the weather, and Sanchez recognized the sounds of Raptors coming in low at high speed. The muffled sound of explosions in the distance confirmed his suspicions, but he couldn’t see any sign of the fighters or their targets in this blasted weather.
Besides the rain, the lake site was quiet. The automated guns had stopped firing, and he hoped that whatever was in range was now a pile of slag, but if the landers were close and under fire, he figured there would be troops on the way.
With no active sensors, Sanchez had to rely on field glasses for any sign of enemy movement, and he hated using them. He could never seem to get the focus right. Was he supposed to look with both eyes or just one?
Maya handed him the glasses under the tarp and raised the flap just enough for him to slip the lenses through. The rain made it difficult to observe anything outside their perimeter, but he tried to relax and see through the rain.
Another massive explosion to the west lit up the sky. This one was close. Sanchez angled the glasses up and located its source. Another lander had been hit and was on its way down. It was heading for the far edge of the lake just as another missile struck. The detonation obliterated the lower section of the lander, and the wreckage plunged into the lake in a blast of fire and steam.
Well, one more lander down was good news, but Sanchez looked at Maya with concern. The lander was headed this way. “That last missile came from the plateau guns. It must have gotten inside its perimeter defense range.”
Peeking through another small gap beside Sanchez’s field goggles, Maya pointed past the edge of the two hills to the west of the lake. Sanchez moved the goggles and zoomed in. Rounding the second hill was a tank of some sort. It was huge, and right behind it were four smaller vehicles surrounded by armored Cilik’ti warriors.
He pulled the goggles down and checked his map. The Cilik’ti advance was still two kilometers away, but it wouldn’t take long for them to get here. The lone Marine tank and two APCs were on the south side of camp closer to the plateau wall but still within easy striking distance if they closed.
The rest of the Marine emplacements were bunkers set in a soft crescent facing west in front of the camp’s other buildings. The front sides of the bunkers were entrenched with a low profile and used the ground to reinforce the blast plates of the walls. Normally, thick reinforced concrete was used for the interior walls, but with all the resources focused on the main encampment, there hadn’t been time to harden them. The rear of each bunker had been dug out to provide easier egress, and a low trench ran ten meters behind them, which connected to a natural basin leading to the camouflaged shuttles and possible escape.
The design of the defenses was makeshift, but it added to Toronaga’s empty nest plan. The force at the lake had two clear goals: protect the shuttles and the civilians still in the caves near them. They couldn’t hope to hold against a larger Cilik’ti force. Instead, Toronaga recommended they be invisible. The plan relied on abandoned cabins, equipment left in disarray and no power or heat signatures. Anything that would make the Cilik’ti believe there wasn’t any threat. With the lake to their right and a series of jagged ridges to the south, the open floodplain along the lakeshore was the most open approach, and the Cilik’ti moving across the ground weren’t hiding. Toronaga had carefully put everyone in place and, if they followed orders, the Cilik’ti wouldn’t even know they were there.
Sanchez waited a few more agonizing minutes and snuck his goggles back out. The Cilik’ti were a half kilometer away now, and several of the warriors flanking the tank were armed with pulse lances and sensor pods, searching for heat and movement.
The massive tank stopped and angled its twin gun array upward and fired. Blue energy cracked and lashed out at the Marines’ defensive gun emplacements on the top of the plateau. Sanchez could hear the explosion above them. The tank’s turret shifted to the left and fired again. Another explosion echoed from above, and he was sure two of the three defensive guns were now gone. With nothing on scan, one more blast and they would leave.
Four of the Cilik’ti warriors moved forward, sloshing in the water pooled on the ground. Holding the scanning pods in front of them, they split up and began to search the camp for signs of life. Sanchez tapped his fingers on the trigger guard of his weapon. The rail was cool, but not cold, but that didn’t stop his hands from feeling numb. The tank fired again toward the top of the plateau, and Sanchez could hear the wrenching of metal as one of the guns fell from its emplacement and then crashed to the ground less than fifty meters from his position. He almost leaped from his position at the sound. He had never been on edge like this. That was too close!
One of the warriors walked closer to Sanchez and Maya’s bunker, holding its scanning pod in front of it, and panned it. Sanchez held his breath and tried not to move. He glanced at Maya, who gave him a “you’ve got to be kidding me” look.
He let the breath out with a quiet whistle. He smiled at her in embarrassment, but he almost jumped through the tarp at the sound of automatic gunfire to the right of their bunker. He raised the tarp edge to peer outside and saw one of the Cilik’ti bloodied and on the ground, under fire from two guns from a nearby bunker. It was a bunker assigned to the civilian volunteers. The Cilik’ti warrior screeched in pain as it tried to stand.
“Ah, hell!” he muttered just as the other three Cilik’ti opened fire with their lances on the civilians’ bunker and advanced.
The wounded Cilik’ti warrior regained its footing, but more automated weapons fire erupted from several of the bunkers. Despite the Cilik’ti warriors’ tough armor, it couldn’t sustain them from the onslaught of the Marine M20s at close range.
Sanchez heard a high-pitched droning sound coming closer and ducked his head down as a roaring blast of blue energy impacted just short of their bunker. Mud and water splashed into the bunker, and Sanchez’s ears rang. The concussion of the blast made his head swim and for a moment, he almost passed out. Sanchez shook his head to clear the dizziness. It was useless; he still couldn’t focus. He faltered and something grabbed his helmet. He tried to jerk away, but whatever had him was strong and held him fast. It was Maya. Her slender hands cradled his helmet and forced him to look at her. Maya’s blue eyes consumed his vision and, as he concentrated on them, he felt the dizziness pass.
His senses now returned, Sanchez turned to his right and grabbed his assault rifle. Together, he and Maya threw back the protective tarp and took aim at the nearest Cilik’ti. Sanchez squeezed the trigger. His rounds struck the Cilik’ti in the rear legs but bounced off its armor.
Maya’s aim found a less protected area on its carapace, and the warrior lurched away in pain. It turned its lance toward their bunker and tried to return fire, but more rounds from the Marines in the bunker to their left struck its head and neck. The Cilik’ti dropped to the ground, thrashing in agony.
Sanchez opened his wrist comm unit. “Overlord, this is Cavalier, do you copy?” Warbled static was the only thing he could hear. “I repeat, Overlord, this is Cavalier. Ghost unit is compromised and we are engaged. Again, I say, Ghost is comprised.” Still nothing. He changed frequencies. “Armstrong, this is Sanchez, do you copy?” There was no answer. Angry, he turned off the comm unit. “Dammit, there’s too much interference!”
Rumbling sounds emerged from behind their bunker, and Sanchez knew the Marines’ vehicles were on the move. The Marines’ only tank opened fire on one of the Cilik’ti smaller armor
ed transports. The armor-piercing round struck one of the vehicle’s hover engines and sent it spinning onto its side. The rear of the vehicle opened and smoke billowed from the damaged engine, but more of the massive armored Cilik’ti warriors jumped out.
The remaining Cilik’ti vehicles pressed forward in a wedge with the Shredder in the point flanked by over a hundred Cilik’ti warriors. Gunfire from several of the bunkers filled the field between the two combatants. Another salvo from the Shredder hit the bunker next to Sanchez. The particle cannon energy exploded inside the bunker, coupled with the screams of agony from the Marines inside.
“Corpsman!” Sanchez yelled and searched in earnest for the medic stationed in his bunker. Blasts riddled the front of his bunker from lances of the now-charging Cilik’ti warriors, and Sanchez and Maya were forced to take cover. “Corpsman!” he yelled again.
“Here!” The shout came from his left. The Marine medic stopped firing, slung his weapon next to his medic bag and ran under cover to Sanchez’s position.
Sanchez pointed to the damaged bunker to their right. The front was wrecked, but weapons fire continued from inside, as did the call for help. “We’ve got to get to that bunker. There were at least eight Marines in there.”
“But sir,” the medic protested. “There are over a hundred Cilik’ti bearing down on us. It’s suicide.”
Maya’s look showed she agreed with the corpsman, but Sanchez ignored her and moved to the door near the rear of the bunker.
“We need every able-bodied person. If we can keep any of those men alive and fighting, the better our chances are going to be. Now let’s go, Marine!”
The corpsman grunted and ran to the door as Sanchez opened it.