“Thanks, Stefan. I’ll try to remember that.” Bjorn checked the shipping assignments. Captain Jonasson would have 170 hours to harangue him in hyperspace. It would make for a long week.
* * *
EMS Nanook, Moloq, Cimaron Region, Peco Arm
“No sensor hits in the threat box,” the sensors operator called while Bjorn’s stomach was still settling from the emergence from hyperspace.
“We emerged 27 degrees off optimal vector,” the helmsman announced. “The other trio of transports are 21 degrees off.”
“Sensors, keep your eyes peeled. Helm, initiate separation and plot a one-G course for planetary orbit,” Captain Breslin ordered. Bjorn stayed out of her way at the rear of the bridge. Breslin knew the operation.
The deck shuddered as the two transports attached to the Nanook disconnected their docking clamps. Since increasing the mass of a body meant it required less energy to remain in hyperspace, ships traveling to the same destination routinely docked with each other.
“One-G course plotted, Captain. We’ll reach orbit in 22 hours,” the helm reported. A display showed a countdown clock.
Captain Breslin glanced to Bjorn. Every hour gave the enemy a greater chance to prepare. With any luck, by the time the HecSha learned of the Berserkers’ approach, it would be too late.
“Stick to one G, Captain. Hopefully they’ll mistake us for commercial traffic,” Bjorn said. Through his pinplants, he asked Bettie to relay the sensor data for the planetary approach and orbit. Enough ships traversed the system to keep the Berserkers’ transports from flashing a big warning sign, but six of them together could raise suspicions.
The acceleration alarm sounded thirty seconds before the fusion torches ignited. Faux gravity tugged Bjorn down into his seat.
* * *
Siege Command Camp, Moloq
Commander Vosst glared at the distant walls. Whatever they protected wasn’t worth the 60 days he’d spent trying to breach them. The Gtandan Cartel who’d hired his HecSha mercenary unit had seriously underestimated the Eosogi defenses. The wall bristled with lasers, anti-missile batteries, and shield generators.
The standoff ate further into his profit margin every day. The Gtandans had sent word they’d hired an assault force to storm the wall and break the stalemate. It meant less loot for his troops, but sitting on their tails in the ruined suburbs outside the walled town garnered them nothing.
“Commander! One of our satellites spotted a group of transports emerging,” a technician hissed from a nearby makeshift console. “They’re on a one-G approach vector.”
Vosst peered over the technician’s shoulder. “Any identifiers?”
The technician zoomed in on the image of the lead transport. An image of a hairy, hulking mammal decorated the side of the vessel. This must be the shock troops. Vosst remembered big, savage mammals from the briefing message.
“How long until they arrive?” Vosst asked.
“Assuming standard maneuvering—21 hours,” the technician replied.
Vosst nodded. Plenty of time to prepare. He’d maintain the routine bombardment schedule—pausing the sporadic heavy weapon probes of the town defenses could alert the target.
* * *
JMS Unbridled Rage, Moloq Emergence Point
“Report!” Klet’usron roared. The commander of the mercenary force Unbridled Rage hated the transition between hyperspace and normal space. It made his fur stand on end.
“No threats,” one of the Pendal manning the three consoles in the front of the CIC replied. “I read a single fusion plume between us and the planet.”
“We emerged 107 degrees off ideal vector,” the second said. “Shall we correct course and make for the planet?”
“Of course!” Klet’usron replied. He debated increasing the planned acceleration. It would only shave a pawful of hours and wear down his troopers. He dismissed the idea. Besides, it could alert the defenders that the Jivool weren’t traders. “What’s the status of our other transport?”
“It’s on a trajectory 204 degrees off ideal approach,” the first Pendal stated.
“They’re correcting course to join up with us,” the third Pendal added.
“Proceed as planned,” Klet’usron ordered.
* * *
EMS Nanook, Approaching Moloq Orbit
“Anyone challenging us?” Bjorn asked from his CASPer. His Tri-V displayed the feed from the bridge, and Bettie fed supplemental data to his pinview. Civilian orbital traffic gave their approach vector a wide berth. “The HecSha must have ships somewhere.”
“The HecSha may have used landing transports,” Captain Breslin replied. Starships small enough to land couldn’t carry as much and required more power to stay in hyperspace. “They could have used a jump rider, and it’s lurking in the traffic. In that case, their ship won’t pose a threat, since they wouldn’t risk their ride home.”
“I hope you’re right,” Bjorn remarked. A countdown in his status display showed 20 minutes until dropship launch. Captain Jonasson’s paranoid remarks nagged at Bjorn. What game were the Eosogi playing?
* * *
JMS Unbridled Rage, Approaching Moloq Orbit
Klet’usron snarled as the comm chimed. Seventy grumpy Jivool crammed into two Besquith-built dropships. Even with the roomy Besquith design, it made for cramped conditions. The scene mirrored the opposite side of the transport, where Jivool loaded into another pair of dropships.
“What?” Klet’usron expected one of his junior officers to ask the same inane question their peers posed over the last few hours.
The Pendal sounded unmoved by Klet’usron’s tone or volume. “We have an update. The fusion plume preceding us toward the world turned out to be six transports. They’re braking for orbital insertion as we speak.”
Other mercenaries! If they broke the HecSha siege, Unbridle Rage would go home empty-handed. “Can we catch them?”
“No. We could gain on them by reducing our deceleration now, then braking hard as we reached orbit, but they’d still arrive an hour before us.”
“Do it!” Klet’usron ordered. “Can you identify what race owns these ships?”
“It’s difficult to say. The largest appears to be a Besquith mercenary transport, three are Zuul designs, and we haven’t pinned down the remaining two,” the Pendal replied.
“Humans,” Klet’usron rumbled. The clawless primates used whatever technology they could get their hands on, building almost nothing for themselves. The stark exception was the Masu’Jiv, the Iron Bear. The armored shells made a puny Human the equal of a Jivool warrior. Six ships full of Masu’Jiv would prove challenging. However, Unbridled Rage could catch the Humans between themselves and the HecSha. Iron Bears or not, the Humans would fall.
* * *
Siege Command Camp, Moloq
“I read 20 dropships descending to the vacated air transport hub ten kilometers east,” the technician stated.
Vosst nodded. Landing out of reach of the Eosogi’s anti-aircraft weaponry was prudent, even if the new arrivals erred on the side of caution. He turned to his officers. “Have our soldiers arm up. As soon as the reinforcements reach the siege line, we’ll hit the city defenses full force and follow our allies in.” He pointed to the map. “Move our currently off-cycle artillery here. Once the defenders are distracted by the new arrivals, we’ll pour concentrated fire on this section of the wall.”
“Won’t clustering our artillery pieces invite focused return fire?” one of the officers asked. A sensible question—the HecSha had lost several heavy weapons over the initial days of the siege.
“They’ll have something else to hold their attention. Once we overwhelm their defenses, it won’t matter,” Vosst replied. Twenty dropships would contain enough shock troops to swamp the defenders. Too bad the Eosogi jamming would prevent Vosst from coordinating with the new arrivals until they drew close.
* * *
Berserkers’ Landing Zone, Moloq
Bjorn jo
gged down the dropship ramp, his CASPer’s armored boots clanging on the metal. The rest of Bruin Alpha trod behind him—two dozen charcoal grey CASPers with mixed mission loadouts. The ramp for Bravo platoon clanged to the tarmac and another 25 CASPers filed out. Casanovas, troop rumblers, and logistics rumblers formed up.
The CASPers would hang onto the vehicles until they were within two kilometers of their destination. Other mercenary commanders thought Bjorn crazy for the number of vehicles he fielded, not to mention infantry, but the rumblers could cross ground twice as fast as a CASPer without wearing out the troopers.
‘BTI: Battle space updated. HecSha units arrayed within 90 percent of projections.’ The battlefield tactical intelligence highlighted the enemy units.
‘Bettie, how are the HecSha reacting to our arrival?’ Bjorn asked through his pinplants. Recon flyers and UAVs circled overhead and relayed their data to the command rumbler. The HecSha lagged on responding to the Berserkers’ landing.
‘BTI: Seven heavy weapon vehicles are relocating. There is a 67% probability troops are massing in these two locations.’ Two empty parking lots covered by camouflage netting blinked on the map. It made no sense. The HecSha acted as though they were preparing to assault the city, not engage the Berserkers. Did they think they could take the city before the Berserkers arrived?
“Captain Breslin to Bruin Actual!” The message icon indicated extreme priority.
“Go ahead, Captain,” Bjorn said.
“Two transports roared into orbit and belched dropships,” Captain Breslin stated. Sensor data accompanied her message. “You have 20 minutes before eight Besquith Torszult-class dropships rain on your parade.”
Loki curse it all! Bjorn switched channels. “McCain, we’ve got inbound bogies. You’re in charge of the air defense. Your priority is to protect the LZ and our rides home.”
“Roger. We’ll keep the gunboats on high guard,” Captain Mike McCain replied, chomping on a cigar. “Do you want to send the birds back to orbit?”
“Only if necessary. We have four anti-aircraft rumblers at the LZ.” While the dropships were vulnerable on the ground, sending them back to orbit could leave the troops with their back to the wall if this went south. Bettie flashed the data on the Torszult in his pinview. Each could carry a platoon equivalent of Besquith. It could add up to 250 Besquith howling for their blood.
Bjorn opened the command channel to the company captains. “The shit has hit the fan. The HecSha have reinforcements inbound 20 minutes out. I’m guessing Besquith, Jivool, or Oogar based on the dropships.”
“How many?” Jonasson asked. Bjorn could hear the ‘I told you so’ in the older man’s tone.
“Probably 250,” Bjorn replied. No point in sugar-coating it. The Berserkers fielded 200 CASPers. Add in 300 infantry and 40-plus Casanovas, they could readily handle the incoming assault, but it didn’t account for the HecSha’s 800 infantry plus heavy weapons.
Bjorn allowed the cursing across the channel for ten seconds before cutting in. “Running isn’t an option. We need to play the cards in our hand.”
“Sounds like a Dead Man’s Hand,” Jonasson remarked.
Bjorn ignored the comment. “Bruin, Grizzly, and Polar companies will assault the new force. Kodiak and Ursus will hit the HecSha. Owlbear will eliminate the HecSha heavy weapons.”
“You’ll have 150 CASPers and two dozen vics against 250 Besquith?” Jonasson remarked. “You’re crazy, kid.”
“That’s Commander to you, Captain Jonasson,” Bjorn countered. “I’ll lead the forces against the newcomers. Captain Jonasson will command the attack on the HecSha.”
* * *
Jivool Dropship Rage-1, Moloq
“We have sensor and visual data on the enemy forces,” the SleSha copilot reported. Reconnaissance drones ahead of the dropships swept for threats. “Their landing zone is on the edge of the target settlement’s air defense envelope. In addition, they’ve deployed defenses around their landing craft.”
Spite tempted Klet’usron to order the destruction of the enemy’s dropships. His forces would have to attack by ground—a lucky shot against one of his dropships would cost the Unbridled Rage an eighth of their forces before the battle commenced. However, any troops he committed to attacking the landing zone were troops he couldn’t deploy against the Humans and their Masu’Jiv. Better to overwhelm the Humans and leave them an avenue of retreat. The contract hinged on taking the objective with no bonus for forces defeated.
“Put us down near the quickest route between the Human forces and the main HecSha encampment,” Klet’usron ordered. “Have you succeeded in contacting the HecSha?”
“Negative. The defenders are jamming comm channels,” the copilot replied. Its antennae straightened. “If we sent a recon drone close enough, we could relay a signal and punch through the jamming.”
“Do it!” Hopefully the HecSha would realize the Humans were attacking.
* * *
Bruin Actual
“Owlbear One to Bruin Actual. We have visual on the enemy reinforcements,” Captain McCain called over the command channel. “We’re looking at two companies of Jivool shock troopers.”
Bjorn rattled in his CASPer as the Casanova he clung to jumped a curb. “This may be the first time I’ve been disappointed not to see Besquith on the battlefield.” That explained why the new arrivals didn’t go after the Berserker landing zone. Besquith would eliminate a route of escape so they could kill more enemy. The Oogar were plain mean. The Jivool were the smarter of the three. They would prove harder to bait than the more ferocious aliens.
The column of rumblers swung onto a wide, deserted avenue. Most of the inhabitants had retreated to the walled perimeter, leaving the surrounding town empty save for those too stubborn, foolish, or poor to seek safety. Whatever the Eosogi protected behind their walls and emplacements, the HecSha’s employers wanted captured, not destroyed.
Bjorn checked the map. Symbols showing the Jivool crept along the road leading toward the siege line. Bettie overlaid intercept options. Bjorn chose one that would leave them a couple of minutes before the Jivool reached them.
“Here’s the plan,” Bjorn called over the channel to the officers and NCOs of the three companies in his task force. He indicated a point on the shared map. “The Casanovas will drop us here. Bruin Charlie and Delta will fall back to provide supporting fire from here and here.” Two more points blinked on the map. “Polar Company will sweep around and harass the Jivool LZ. We might force them to send some of their forces back to defend the dropships.”
Bjorn knew his officers had done the math. Half again their number in heavily-armed Jivool shock troopers meant a lot of Berserkers would die. None voiced any opposition.
* * *
Kodiak Delta Three
Charlotte Wicza listened to Sergeant Lexi Taylor repeat their mission orders. Command had tasked their platoon with taking out the anti-aircraft battery protecting the south side of the siege encampment. The squad’s goal was the targeting array. Lieutenant Olinger instructed Taylor to take the squad around while the rest of the platoon kept the lizards pinned down. They’d get close enough to plant a demo charge or use heavy weapons to wreck as much hardware as possible.
Taylor hunched low as she moved forward toward the operation station, but paused in front of Charlotte. “You good, Wicza?”
Charlotte nodded. This was her first deployment. In training cadre, some of her fellow trainees laughed at her diminutive stature, especially when they found out she’d enlisted in infantry. At 155 centimeters, she couldn’t operate a CASPer. “I won’t let you down, Sergeant.”
“I know you won’t, soldier. Sergeant Eddings told me you were her best pupil.” Sergeant Taylor continued forward and peered over the operations specialist. “Three minutes, people.”
* * *
Siege Command Camp
“Commander, the pickets have reported between 15 and 20 vehicles inbound,” the technician stated.
Vosst nodded his approval. The sooner they could launch the assault, the better. “What’s the status of the heavy weapons?”
“They’ll be ready in fifteen minutes,” the technician replied. “Aerial recon drones show an incoming force from a separate landing zone. These appear to be Jivool shock troops.”
“Jivool—big hairy mammals. We’re expecting them.” Vosst’s thoughts froze. “Second force? Show me the disposition of these forces!”
The technician tapped at a slate, and the holographic map updated. The first force marked with blue symbols split in half, part continuing to the siege line while the remainder moved to intercept a blob of green markers.
“Oh, no,” Vosst hissed. An explosion rocked the camp as the cracks of hypersonic projectiles and the snaps of lasers filled the air. A whistling noise preceded a detonation in front of the command tent, spraying debris and shredding the ballistic fabric.
Vosst opened his command channel. The squeal of jamming greeted him. “All forces to the outer perimeter! We’re under attack!” Electronic horns scattered around the camp hooted three times. For the duration of the siege, the Eosogi hadn’t tested the HecSha’s external defenses.
“You!” Vosst pointed at a waiting courier. “Tell the artillery captain to turn his weapons outward! Go!” The lizard scurried out of the tent as another rocket screamed overhead.
The Gates of Hell Page 28