by Jay Allan
“Ready, Sergeant.” Jarrod’s voice was a little wobbly, but it was loud and clear.
“Attention 3rd Section, prepare to advance behind mortar barrage. Team leaders sound off.”
“Acknowledged.” Corporal Clark Hemmerich was the first to respond, but the other three teams sounded off a few seconds later. The leaders had all been onplanet at least 9 months, though some of them commanded teams consisting entirely of new recruits.
“Mortars…” Bear was standing right behind the three deployed tubes. “…commence firing.”
It couldn’t have been more than a second before Samuels heard the first distinctive whoosh, followed closely by the other two. He pulled down his visor, flipping the switch to kick in the magnification. He could see the explosions in a small line along the rocky slope.
“Short, 30 meters.” He snapped out the range adjustment. The three crew leaders were watching their impact points too, but Samuels beat them to it.
Visibility was shitty. Bear could make out maybe half a dozen Machines deployed on the hillside, but he knew there were a lot more of them up there. The terrain was great for defense. If he led his section straight up they’d be cut to pieces. There was a way up around the side, though. If he could get a jump on the enemy, distract them enough with the mortar fire, he might just manage to hit them on the flank. He liked his rookies’ chances a lot better that way.
Bear smiled as he saw the second batch of mortar rounds impact along the enemy’s first line. We drew blood that time, he thought, nodding with satisfaction.
“1st and 2nd Teams, move out.” He had placed Hemmerich in overall command of the first two teams. The veteran corporal had been onplanet almost two years. He was the one other NCO in the section that Samuels considered a true veteran.
“Yes, Sergeant.” Hemmerich’s response was crisp, just a touch of tension showing. This was a new kind of mission for all of them, the biggest fight the 213th Strikeforce had ever faced.
“3rd and 4th Teams, prepare to advance.” Samuels was taking the rest of the section in himself. They were moving up right behind Hemmerich’s people. Once they got closer to the enemy position they would swing around, climbing higher up the hillside and hitting the enemy rear…right after the first two teams engaged the flank. With any luck, they’d have surprise on their side. If not, Samuels thought, it’s going to be a long day.
*
“Widen that field of fire. That fucking thing swivels, you know.” Clark Hemmerich was crouched down behind a large boulder, shouting across a ten meter gap to his HHV team. They’d gotten the thing up and firing quickly enough, but they were just shooting straight ahead. They had a line of fire on at least three enemy lines, but they were only shooting at one.
“Yes, Corporal.”
Hemmerich grinned as he saw the stream of hyper-velocity projectiles begin to swing back and forth across the field. He shook his head, thinking, why do they have to be told that? They’d caught the Machines flat-footed, focused on the mortar barrage and expecting a frontal assault. Now his team was raking the enemy flank, firing into the Machine position at its most vulnerable point.
“Grange, Cruz, get your asses behind some cover before they get shot off!” The enemy still hadn’t reacted to the surprise, and now his people were getting careless, not paying attention to their cover. It was exactly the kind of stupid shit that got soldiers killed. The Machines were slow to adjust, but when they did Hemmerich knew his line would be hosed down with fire, and anybody who wasn’t keeping his head down would be a stain.
His orders were clear…put maximum fire on the enemy while Samuels took the rest of the section around the flank and hit the enemy rear. The Machines were confused, their flank wide open. He was tempted to charge now and try to exploit the chaos. But he didn’t have the strength, not until Samuels and the rest of the section went in, at least. It was immaterial…his orders expressly forbid him to go in before the rear attack hit.
He tapped a small pad on his helmet, bringing the tactical display up on his visor. His troops were deployed across 120 meters, each team with six men on the front and two in reserve. The 2nd team’s HHV was about 70 meters uphill from his position. It looked like a decent spot, but it was a little more exposed than he liked.
He peered around the boulder, trying to get an idea of the damage they were doing to the enemy. Normally, he’d have had a drone up, but Taylor had ordered him not to do anything during his approach that might alert the enemy they were coming. The Machines had detected the transports approaching the area, of course, but Taylor was betting that a complex assault plan would surprise them. He didn’t think the Machines would expect an attack across the rugged terrain on their flank, which is exactly why Samuels’ section was doing just that. Drones buzzing around before the attack might have been a tip off, though.
It looked like the enemy was taking heavy casualties, but it was hard to be sure. They still hadn’t counterattacked – or even responded with more than token fire of their own. It was a gift, but one Hemmerich knew wouldn’t last. The more he thought about it, the more he disliked that HHV position. The enemy was going to take them out as soon as they got their shit together.
“1st Team, maintain position and fire.” He crouched low and crept out from behind the boulder, climbing slowly up the hill. He was going to find a better spot for that HHV.
*
“On three…3rd and 4th Teams, advance.” Bear’s people had made a wide march around the enemy flank. They’d gone at least a kilometer out of their way, but it looked like they’d made it without being spotted. He’d crept as close as he dared. The enemy rear was about half a klick down the rocky hillside.
“One.” Samuels could hear distant explosions…his mortars still firing on the enemy front. It was hard to tell, but it sounded like all three were still active. He’d cut communications with the mortars…he’d shut down everything but low-power intra-team com. It was just too easy for the enemy to pick up a transmission and blow his secrecy.
“Two.” Normally, Samuels would have his troops leapfrog forward, half providing covering fire while the rest advanced. But it looked like they had complete surprise going for them, so he’d ordered everyone to rush down the hillside and take advantage of it. A good old-fashioned charge, he thought. “No, not entirely,” he whispered to himself. He wasn’t looking to lead a bunch of rookies into close quarters combat with the Machines. They were going to rush down to point blank range and then stop and unload on the enemy position. He knew Hemmerich’s people were hitting the flank the same way. With their flank and rear compromised and heavy fire coming in, the enemy would probably pull back. The Machines didn’t break and rout in battle, not exactly. But they weren’t utterly resilient automatons either. They cared about self-preservation…whether that was instinct, programming, doctrine…Samuels didn’t know. But they would retreat if their position was untenable rather than fight hopelessly to the death. And that was all Samuels needed to clear the hillside.
“One. Move it!” He spun around the edge of the rock out into the open. This was a gamble. If the enemy realized what was happening and got some fire on his people, they’d be sitting ducks. If that happened, Bear knew he’d be one of the first to go…he was a damned big target out in the open.
He ran down the hillside, as quickly as he could without losing his footing. His vision was obscured…he had his visor down and the tactical display up. If he’d been leading his old team, he wouldn’t have worried about the display, but he needed to keep an eye on the cherries. If they froze, or if half of them failed to advance, the attack could quickly turn into a disaster.
It looked like everyone was moving, at least so far. The line was a little more ragged than he’d have liked, but overall things looked OK. He shoved up the visor, finally getting a good look forward. He’d covered half the ground to the enemy already. There was a small gutter in the hillside, no more than a wrinkle in the ground, about 200 meters from the Machine position
. That was the objective. If they could make it that far, they’d have decent cover, and they’d be firing from point blank range.
“They’re shooting at us!”
Bear wasn’t even sure who it was until he checked the com transponder. Private Esteban, one of the newbs from 3rd Team. “Let’s stay calm, people. Keep moving.” Bear was starting to notice some fire too, but it was sporadic, scattered. Probably a sentry or two who’d noticed the approaching force. He could feel himself stooping lower, instinctively trying to make himself a smaller target. The best thing he could do…that any of them could do…was to keep moving.
“I’m hit!” It was Private Slotsky from 4th Team. He wasn’t fresh out of the Portal, but he was still pretty raw. There was pain in his tone, and panic.
“Keep moving, all of you!” Bear was almost to the objective. His rifle was in his hands, and his eyes were instinctively scanning for a good place to position himself. “Slotsky, how bad are you hit?”
“It’s my leg, Sarge. Hurts like hell.” Bear could hear the fear. Slotsky had never been wounded before, probably never had worse than a twisted ankle. “Stay calm, kid. Grab yourself some cover and get your medkit on it. We’ll be back for you.” The nanobots in the personal medical kit could stabilize most wounds long enough to get an injured soldier evac’d. Assuming there was any transport available, which there wouldn’t be unless Bear and his men secured the area.
Samuels halted, crouching behind a small rock outcropping. It was only a meter and a half high, but it was good cover as long as he stayed prone. He slammed down his visor and gave the tactical display a quick glance. The rest of his troops were reaching their objectives. He switched off the projection and cranked up the visor magnification. He could hear the enemy fire now, still sporadic but definitely getting heavier.
“Everybody grab some decent cover and get some fire going.” He peered around the edge of the rock, bringing his assault rifle up and firing half a dozen rounds on semi-automatic in the general direction of the enemy. “HHVs, I want you guys up and firing now! Make sure you’ve got decent cover.” He’d been careful to ensure that each of the HHV teams had one veteran member. He had to transfer a man from 3rd Team to do it, but the HHVs were too important to entrust solely to rookies.
He pumped up the visor magnification to 300% and looked over toward the left. It looked like Hemmerich’s people were really ripping the enemy flank to shreds. He could hear fire beginning from his own teams, scattered rifles at first, then one of the HHVs kicking in. The enemy position was bracketed by the fire of his two groups. The Machines’ position was untenable…they had two choices. Launch a nearly suicidal charge against one of his forces or withdraw and reform. Either way, Samuels was going to take control of the hill and open the door for the rest of Jake’s troops to assault the base.
Never win a battle with bullets when you can do it with boot leather. That was one of Jake Taylor’s favorite maxims…and Samuels had learned it from him. It didn’t matter that military boots hadn’t been made of leather for generations…the point remained. And against an enemy like the Machines, strong and well-armed but tactically sluggish, it was even more valid.
His whole force was in position now, pouring fire into the enemy rear. The Machines were shifting forces, trying to put together a line to face the new threat. Samuel’s people were starting to take losses too, but they were light. The enemy was disordered and their efforts to reorganize under the heavy fire were slow and clumsy.
“Pour it on, boys.” Samuels was firing on full auto now as he shouted into his com. “Drive them off the hill.”
Chapter 7
From the Journal of Jake Taylor:
The Machines aren’t actual robots. Not exactly. They are built, yes, but the technology is bio-mechanical. Imagine a reinforced supermetal skeleton, covered with a combination of mechanical and organic materials. Machines that learn, machines that heal. Relentless warriors that feel no fatigue, no pity, no mercy.
But the Machines are pawns in this war, even as my brothers and I are. They are the servants of the Tegeri, our real enemy. The Tegeri build the Machines and command them; they send them into battle against us. We don’t know much about these shadowy puppet-masters, but we know what we need to know. They are our enemies.
But what of the Machines themselves? Are they evil? Or are they merely slaves with no choice, no self-determination? Do they deserve our hatred? Or our pity? Do they feel true emotions? Are they able to wish for something else, something better than a lifetime of war and death on a hellish world?
And how different are we, my fellow-soldiers and I? What choice do we have? We are sustained by our cause, protecting humanity from a ravaging alien horde. However many of us die, however callously we are used by the government, we know that we are protecting those we left behind. If we didn’t have that, I doubt we could go on. I know I couldn’t. Thinking of Beth, my family, safer because I am here fighting…it is all that sustains me.
But do the Machines also believe they are fighting for a cause? Do they see us as aggressors, invaders…streaming from the Portals onto the worlds they have protected for centuries? Are they as self-righteous in their purpose as we are in ours?
I wonder sometimes if the Machines can crave a life elsewhere, if they ever long for peace…or if they know nothing but the hell of war. And if they know nothing else, if they cannot understand love and family and happiness…do I pity or envy them?
*
“Keep laying down that fire. Don’t give those bastards a chance to regroup.” Taylor had his visor magnification on maximum, watching the engineers move toward the heavy metal hatch of the enemy base. The Machines had fallen back, abandoning their network of trenches in front of the entry, but now they were trying to organize a counter-attack. Taylor’s strikeforce had taken the enemy position...now they had only one job. Cover the engineers while they breeched the fortified hatch.
It had been a hard fight. Samuels’ people had cleared the opposite hillside, outflanking and maneuvering the enemy out of their position. It had been masterfully done, and Taylor had been particularly impressed by Bear’s execution. Taylor had expected a lot from him, but he’d gotten even more. Samuels had accomplished a virtual miracle with his pack of newbs.
The battle to seize the ground outside the base had been a different story. Taylor’s men had paid for every bloody step. They’d had two attacks repulsed and, for a while, he thought they were going to come up short. Twice he’d called for fire support. But the narrow valley was a dangerous place for a Dragonfire gunship, and central command had refused both requests, instructing Taylor to continue his assault with the resources he had. He was used to the high command putting materiel over men, but he was surprised this time…he had thought this mission was important enough to override the usual bullshit protocol.
It was. Taylor didn’t know it, but he’d twice been authorized Dragonfire support, only to have the orders countermanded by higher authority for undisclosed reasons. Jake Taylor was on his own, and his performance was being closely watched…though he had no idea any of this was going on.
Finally, he ordered Bear to post a small flank guard and attack down off the hillside with the rest of his men. The combined assault proved to be too much for the Machines defending the trenches. They pulled back, leaving 2/3 of their numbers behind, dead in their works.
Now the enemy was trying to integrate all the units that had withdrawn and organize a counterattack. Taylor’s exhausted and shattered sections had to hold the ground they’d taken…and give the engineers a chance to break through the enemy fortifications. There were no reserves…they were on their own. The rest of the battalion had moved to cut off enemy reinforcements approaching from the north. If fresh Machine units got through, Taylor’s people wouldn’t have a chance. At 50% strength, fatigued, and low on ammo, they’d be swept away like dry leaves in the breeze.
“Jarrod, get those mortars repositioned. I want fire on those bastards.
They don’t get a chance to regroup. Understood?”
“Yes, Lieutenant.” Voices coming through on the implanted com unit always sounded a little strange…hollow, tiny. But hearing himself called lieutenant was stranger still. “We’re on the way, sir.”
The enemy had taken out one of the mortars, along with its entire team. Corporal Stone and his people didn’t have any warning. They’d been changing their position after every two shots, but the enemy still managed to target them and score a direct hit. Jarrod ran over to see if there were any survivors, but he couldn’t find a piece of anybody bigger than a softball.
“Lieutenant Taylor…Captain Graves here.” Graves was the lead engineer. His crew were UN regulars, not UNFE lifers. There was a lot of resentment between the conscripts condemned to Erastus and the short-term UN specialists with a ticket home, but Taylor had made it clear to his people he wasn’t going to tolerate anything less than total support for the engineers.
“Yes, Captain.” Taylor didn’t share the resentment. He might hate the higher ups, the people who made the policies that sent him and his brethren to die on Erastus. But that animosity didn’t extend to a team of engineers. He might envy their ticket home, but that wasn’t the same thing. They didn’t create the situation any more than he did. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re going to blow the plasma charges in 3 minutes. I need all your people at least 500 meters from the hatch by then.”
Taylor sighed. Three minutes wasn’t much time. “Understood, Captain.” There was no use arguing. Graves didn’t have any latitude, and Taylor knew it. Getting into that base was worth more than his entire strikeforce to UN Command…worth more than all of Graves’s men too. Any of his people who were too close in three minutes would be vaporized by a plasma charge. On UNFE’s spreadsheet it would be just so many more casualties in the glorious victory.