by M. D. Cooper
What was once cover became deadly shrapnel as the shield fragments tore through the men behind them like they were made of paper. In a few short seconds it was over, and the heavies powered down the slug throwers.
Peering over the barrier, Chang grinned and swore. “Now that’s some messy shit, Sarge.”
“Just be happy I don’t make you go clean it up for taking so long,” Williams growled as he cast an uneasy eye at the amount of concrete the enemy’s railguns had dug out of the barrier protecting the Marines. “Squads, advance!”
Their objective was a communications array on the next hilltop. The original plan was to support an airstrike and catch any stragglers, but command had received intel regarding sensitive data on servers within the communications bunker.
The brass wanted to review it, so the Marines were heading in to do it the old-fashioned way.
“Man I hate Venus.” PFC Arsen vaulted over the concrete barrier and established cover for his squad from behind a truck. “It feels like it’s spinning too fast. I swear it’s making me dizzy.”
“That’s just your head reeling from how much your mouth moves,” Sergeant Green said caustically. “Now shut up and keep your eye on that tree line. Scan’s clear, but you never know when someone has left a surprise for you.”
The two squads moved up; their fireteams advancing in a standard pattern until they reached the remains of the enemy troops. They were definitely a fringe group of radicals, their motley armor being the first sign, but the railguns they had were the latest spec. Several of the Marines were eying them and Williams signaled Lance Corporal Dvorak to wipe the ID systems on the guns. When they were safe to handle he assigned one to each team’s assist.
“Swap that out with your heavy gunner as the need arises.”
Chang grinned. “I can definitely see the need to use this bad boy.” He checked the ammunition and the reload action. “Why doesn’t the corps give us weapons like this?”
“They’re too concerned your ham hands would put a hole in one of their pretty ships,” Dvorak said.
“They’re the TSF’s ships; don’t see why the corps would care.”
“Cause we’re all one happy military now,” Williams grunted.
“Yeah, I’d like to see those vacuum jockeys down here taking on enemy troops.” PFC Perez kicked the twitching body of a fallen foe to make sure he was dead.
“I’d like to see you doing it too.” Corporal Taylor gestured for Perez to move out.
Williams checked the command net to make sure that squads one and two were in position relative to squad three. The command net showed Lieutenant Grenwald making better time. Williams signaled his men over the combat net to pick up the pace.
Salas sent an acknowledgement over the combat net and led his fireteam off to the left, down the access road; then into the tree line.
Something felt off to Williams. The enemy had hit them too hard over the last several miles for this last skirmish to be their last hurrah. With the platoon nearly at the comm tower, a last line of defense was only logical.
He posted his concerns on the command net and waited to see if anyone agreed.
Lieutenant Grenwald put in his two cents.
Williams acknowledged that, but pressed his point.
The LT didn’t counter the order, so Green informed Dvorak to keep an extra close eye on scan. Williams was glad that Grenwald had taken his word on the possible danger. He was a good CO as far as they went, though only two years out of OCS. Williams didn’t mind so much; it was easier to shape the younger officers.
The Marines advanced down the slope toward a small creek at the bottom of the valley. From there it was up the hill to the communications array. He could see it poking through the trees: several directional and omnidirectional antennas jutting into the sky. Orders were to take as much of it intact as possible, but Williams’ first concern was always for his Marines.
Williams had started his military career in E Company, 8th Battalion of the 242. Working his way up from PFC to Staff Sergeant had built into him the knowledge that this wasn’t a job, it was a life. The men and women around him were family, closer than any flesh and blood. He was responsible for them and he was going to make sure that every single one of them survived this mission.
He kept that attitude firmly in mind; it was his mantra. The minute a sergeant started accepting the loss of the men he or she was responsible for was the minute to get out of the military. His platoon needed him, needed his protection and he wasn’t going to let them down.
That being said, he didn’t mind if they were scared shitless of him. It made the enemy seem a lot less threatening.
Sergeant Li said over the command net.
The comms went silent, only passive systems online. Even with the tech available to them, Marines still trained in using hand signals. They were silent, efficient and needed no electricity to convey.
Once the teams were in position, Williams signaled Chang to set up one of the slug throwers in case the enemy was shielded. Then he signaled Jansen’s team to make their way across the stream. One/one made the crossing at a point where there were several large rocks in the water—providing enough cover and white noise to mask their approach.
One/one’s active camo made them hard to spot as they moved down the bank and into the water. Cassar, one/one’s heavy gunner, was reaching the far shore when he spotted movement and lowered himself quietly into the water, propping his newly acquired railgun onto a rock. He held up four fingers and pointed to his two o’clock. Williams watched him slowly scan the tree line in front of him before the Marine flashed a full five fingers twice and pointed to his nine o’clock.
The Marines silently passed the counts down the line and Williams signaled his commands for the flanks to cautiously advance twenty
meters across the stream and prepare to repel a flanking maneuver by the enemy. Once the teams were in position he signaled Jansen’s fireteam to begin.
If there were only fourteen of the enemy, the two squads had numbers on their side. He wasn’t counting on it though; intel suspected that the radicals holding the communications array had upwards of one hundred armed combatants in the facility. If things went the way they usually did, there were at least thirty of the enemy across that stream, all ready to take out the first clear target.
Of course, that’s why the brass sent in Marines for jobs like this, not the glorified space force security guards.
Cassar opened up with the railgun, flinging fifty-gram ballistic shells at over twenty kilometers per second. They hit with the force of several sticks of dynamite. Instantly the Marines all realized he was firing fragmentation rounds—something which had not been apparent when the enemy was shooting at the concrete.
One thing was certain, it was effectively clearing the underbrush. A green-brown mist filled the air as the rounds tore through everything in their path, a red bloom appearing here and there as the rounds hit flesh. A minute later he was out of ammunition and the squads waited for the mist to settle. From the looks of it, six men were hit. Silence rushed in, broken only by the crack of a branch tearing off a tree.
“That’s why they won’t give you one of those,” Taylor whispered to Perez.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t get within a thousand meters of you and a weapon like that.” PFC Koller grinned. “It’d be suicide.”
Without warning, laserfire flickered from the far side of the stream, focused at one/two’s position and forcing the fireteam down into the brush. The enemy obviously had sound-sensitive targeting, but their actions revealed their own locations. The Marine’s combat helmets traced the enemy’s shots by the heat signatures the laser beams left in the air and squads one and two opened up with everything they had. Two other captured railguns whined as they charged and then the first ten meters of trees across the stream ceased to exist.
Williams sent them both a slap across the combat net and reminded them that enemies were still across the stream—enemies who were now in possession of shiny new EMF emission data. Unfortunately his necessary reprimand gave away his position as well and he signaled dispersal to those around him and the other broadcasters.
Laser fire continued to flicker from the far shore and the Marines returned the favor, the opening volleys turning into a full skirmish. It played out for several more minutes before the sounds of the enemy retreating could be heard. Williams called for a weapons/wounds check while updating the command net with their positions and targets estimated eliminated.
Corporal Taylor led his team to the Staff Sergeant’s position and prepared for a tongue lashing. Williams looked them up and down, his displeasure a palpable thing.
“Why I don’t put my boot up your collective asses and send you home is beyond me. However, it is nice to have a team that volunteers as bait. It also means that I don’t need to get too attached to you assholes since you’re all going to die soon.” They took it well, like Marines.
“Next time one of you decides to start commenting on a firefight when we are maintaining a tactical silence, pretend you can’t, cause once more and you’ll all be physically incapable of communication!” He spat on the ground and took a deep breath. “You got me one/two?”
“Yes, Staff Sergeant.” The response was quick and in perfect unison.
“Good, go swap places with two/one. You’re on the left flank now. Don’t let me down.” After a verbal beating it was never a bad thing to give the team some responsibility. They’d be all the more eager to prove themselves proper soldiers.
“I think Taylor’s gonna be numb for a week.” Sergeant Kowalski walked toward Williams after sending Jansen on point again. “Becker estimates we got thirteen baddies. Hard to say for sure—he was counting heads, but he thinks he could be plus or minus one. I guess some of the heads didn’t make it too well.”
Williams nodded. “Taylor’s right about one thing. There’s a reason they don’t hand out guns like that in the corps.”
“We gonna get a talkin’ to from the brass for using ’em?” Kowalski asked.
“Maybe… Hopefully they’ll take it as a fighting-fire-with-fire situation.”
“Well”—Kowalski grinned—“It’s your ass, not mine.”
“Thanks for the support.”
Combat net indicated that squad three was in position and waiting on first and second to make it to their ready point.
The facility was a squat two-story building with several outlying power transfer and storage sheds. Jansen’s team silently took out four sentries and set up a covering position behind a power transfer shed that hid their EMF signature. Williams directed the two slug-throwing teams to set up positions at the northwest and southwest corners of the building. Squad three had the rear of the structure covered. Williams settled down behind a storage shed and scanned the combat net. The assault was scheduled for t-minus 6 minutes according to the clock ticking on his HUD.
Two/one would cover with the heavies and provide additional backup. Squad one was taking the front door. Two fireteams from squad three would secure the rear rooms of the facility and catch any escapees.
The count crept down toward zero as he scanned the facility. The enemy had to know the attack was imminent. Nothing showed, but he was certain that behind most if not all the second-floor windows were enemy troops all too ready to rain hell down on the Marines.
He saw movement behind one window in particular and passed the information along to two/one, noting with approval how Corporal Salas assigned the target and also had PFC Reddy run the intel over to Chang’s heavy team. A man was spotted on the roof and Salas took care of that target as well.
Thirty seconds remaining.
Taylor’s fireteam was to be first in, with Dvorak holding back until the facility was secured. They’d need him to hack the systems the brass was so interested in, and Williams needed to keep him breathing for that little event.
Squad one’s teams were moving now, slow and silent, keeping to lanes out of sight of the building’s windows. A moment later Taylor was at the door, setting a shape charge before flattening himself against the wall.
The sound was muffled; most of the blast erupted inside the building. Marine boots smashed into the door’s remains and knocked them inward. A flash and a conc rolled in and one/one was back against the wall as the whine of railguns charging echoed out of the opening. No fire came; instead curses erupted from within the building.
The other two teams in squad one weren’t sitting idle. While the front door action was underway they were breaching ground floor windows. A gunner leaned out of the window Williams had noted earlier and PFC Altair burned a hole through his head. At the same moment Reddy took out the man on the roof with a shot from one of the commandeered railguns.
Before the sounds of pain within the building died down, one/one was through the doors, their IR scan showing the locations of the radicals inside; with three quick shots the entrance was secured.
Williams rose from his position and followed the squad into the building—time to finish the job.
CHAPTER 7
STELLAR DATE: 3227171 / 08.06.4123 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: Marine Troop Transport En-Route to TSS Normandy Orbiting Venus.
REGION: Terran Hegemony, Sol Space Federation
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��So, we’re being sent to Mars.” Grenwald addressed his NCOs after wrapping up their post-op review on the transport back to the TSS Normandy.
“What’s going on there?” Sergeant Li asked. “Aren’t they usually pretty particular about anyone else doing a job they think their vaunted MSF can handle?”
“Wouldn’t know about that,” Grenwald said. “We’re not going to the surface, but to the Mars Outer Shipyards where they’re building that big colony ship, the Intrepid. They’ve got a major and an admiral with some sort of trouble that needs Marine boots to fix.”
“Intrepid, eh?” Williams grunted. “That’s the ship that Redding guy made the new super ramscoop for right? Supposed to be one hell of a ship.”
Green leaned his seat back and stretched. “I don’t really see what they would need us for, sir. Do they need us to shoot a contractor or something?”
Grenwald shrugged. “Not in the brief. I caught wind that they pulled up an MCSF from Mars 1 and have a couple companies of regulars running security for the ship.”
“Great,” Li groaned. “We’ve got to play nice with regulars? You know they’re not really our biggest fans. Plus, they’ve already got MCSF to wipe people’s asses. That’s their specialty.”
“She has a point,” Williams said. The 8th Battalion of the 242 was Force Recon Orbital Drop; the TSF usually didn’t deploy them to stations. The TSF usually didn’t want them on stations. “What good are FROD Marines going to be at babysitting a construction job?”
“Well, as it turns out we were specially requested. I guess some of the folks on that ship have pull.”