Virtues of War

by Bennett R. Coles

  Artemis would launch her star fighters to clear the orbital approaches.

  The three regiments would split at archons one-zero—low enough to hide below all but local Centauri tracking systems—and slow to supersonic for extreme low-level approach.

  Each cruiser was assigned to a specific regiment and would provide bombardment for the lower drop corridor and the landing zone. The destroyers would take the Space Guard cutters—Baghdad and Kristiansand hostile three-eight, Cape Town and Miami hostile three-niner. Goa would provide close ASW and AVW support to the invasion ships.

  The supply ships would blare out with every EM emitter they had, in order to draw Centauri attention and hopefully sow confusion. Then they’d sprint for cover under Jutland’s protective sphere. And the stealth ships would do whatever they could, wherever they were.

  47

  Katja cinched down her straps, preparing for a rough ride. It was hard to sit comfortably with the full complement of drop gear strapped to her back.

  She checked again that her rifle was secure beside her seat, and that all her combat equipment was in place. Her armor was colored a dull, mossy brown, and the black webbing around her waist blended well. She listened absently to the Fleet chatter from the pilots’ console ahead, surprised at how much she actually understood after her months on Rapier’s bridge.

  She recognized Thomas’s voice too easily, and felt a pang of regret for not having made the effort to speak to him before the battle. She pushed it aside and let herself get angry at the thought of him and Breeze, cozying up in Normandy while she went into battle.

  Fleet pussies.

  Chang was already in his seat on her left. Rao entered the cockpit and wordlessly handed them each a medical injector. Katja pulled off one glove and stabbed the injector into her wrist. There was a slight tingle as the combat cocktail rushed into her system, but otherwise she felt no immediate effect. Experience had taught her that the effects of the drugs were hard to detect in the moment, but easy to remember later. If nothing else, she felt reassured.

  “All units,” Commander Vici said over the radio, “prepare for drop.” They were words she’d heard dozens of times in simulation, but this was the real thing—a hostile drop into the heart of the most powerful enemy Terra could face. Despite the amount of action she’d seen recently, Katja felt her stomach tighten in fear. It didn’t help that she was still haunted by Thapa’s ghost, and the idea that she was personally responsible for this war.

  She felt a jolt as the drop ship rolled forward into its airlock. Faint clunks and hisses suggested depressurization outside the hull, and through the cockpit windows she saw the outer doors slide open. She expected to see the bright surface of Abeona greeting her, but was met instead by a field of stars.

  Well, maybe she was responsible, in a small way. But then, she was her daddy’s girl after all—she was a fucking soldier. Maybe it was the first effects of the combat cocktail, but she felt a cold clarity settle over her troubled heart, and swore to herself that no ghosts were going to get in her way today.

  Not Thapa, not Thomas, or Breeze.

  Not Father.

  She was going to prove to every last one of them that she had what it takes. When this day was done, either she’d be a warrior beyond doubt, or she’d be dead.

  A gentle tug toward her left suggested that Normandy was accelerating faster than the inertial dampeners could compensate. She saw a distant flash of light through the cockpit windows. A huge, invisible force pulled her forward against her straps, and the dazzling surface of Abeona hove into view.

  Her drop ship was fifth on the port side. When the first ships went, hers would be two seconds behind. The Saracens were the first wave, and they were point. Along with the Spartans they would be the very first to hit dirt.

  Katja had the landing zone burned into her brain, knew every feature and every obstacle. Her first job was simple—clear the landing zone so that the tanks could get down. There were other objectives, to be sure, but none of them mattered if that landing zone wasn’t secure.

  Abeona’s surface drifted by right to left, the features growing visibly larger. The bright colors faded to blackness as Normandy raced eastward over the terminator. The plan was to drop over the night sky. They were close.

  “All units, Sierra-Five,” she said. “Stand by for drop.”

  The voice of Drop Command sounded on the cockpit speaker.

  “Fifth Brigade: drop now… now… now!”

  Four distant thuds shuddered the hull, then her seat slammed up into her as the drop ship leapt free. She gripped the armrests as they swung hard into a starboard turn, caught a glimpse of Jutland and the stream of fiery blasts bursting forth from her bombardment batteries. Her stomach rose into her throat as the drop ship dove and her vision filled with the dark surface far below.

  The fires of engine exhausts from a pair of other drop ships moved into view as her pilots tucked into formation for the descent. Off to the far left, she saw the twin burners of one of their escort strike fighters. The pressure against her back said that they were still accelerating. Corps doctrine spoke of sending in the strike fighters first to clear a path for the vulnerable drop ships, but Korolev knew that their only chance against the Abeona defenses was complete surprise and had sent everything all at once. With luck, the first wave of troopers would be on the ground before the Centauris could even get themselves organized.

  Being first wave might actually be safer than second or third.

  The first glow of super-heated gases formed around the drop ships and strike fighters ahead. Then she felt the frantic vibrations in her seat, and saw the fires begin to form in front of her own ship.

  “This is Sierra-Five—into atmo!” She hoped her voice sounded cool and reassuring. Her fingers already ached from gripping the chair so tightly.

  Flame enveloped her ship. The pilots struggled to keep on course as they plummeted through the sky like a meteor. She concentrated on her breathing, ignoring the feeling of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her. The high drop corridor was the most dangerous, with the ship practically blind and still high enough to be an easy target. Their only defense was speed, and faith that the Centauris were caught unawares.

  She pursed her lips tight and hung on. The ship lurched violently to starboard. Was that turbulence, or evasive maneuvering? The pilots’ voices were lost in the roar. They fought their controls and Katja felt a hard turn to port. Something impacted the starboard side hull. The jolt shook her in her seat. Another long, wrenching turn to port, and the fires outside began to fade.

  She had a glimpse of yellow light reflecting off cloud tops, then the world outside plunged into blackness. The ship began to shake constantly, a steady, pounding rhythm.

  The darkness lifted as the ship dropped from the clouds and pulled out of its dive. Then she saw the drop ship exhausts ahead, and the scattered, distant lights on the surface. The night sky was lit up with tracers from below, flickering past her view on both sides. Orange bolts flashed down from above. Explosions lit the surface but were instantly astern as the drop ship rocketed forward.

  In a moment of sudden clarity, she saw the surface of Abeona laid before her. The ground fire was panicked and uncoordinated. There were no enemy aircraft. She felt a surge of excitement, fueled by aggression. She was actually doing it—she was actually invading the Centauri homeworld. No Terran soldier had ever done something this bold. Not even her father.

  Through her clenched jaw, she grinned. Now those motherfuckers were going to learn what the Astral Force could really do.

  She keyed her mike, unable to contain her excitement.

  “All units, Sierra-Five. Low drop corridor, on final approach: when we land you smash anything that moves. Clear that landing zone!”

  The single strike fighter off her port bow loosed a hypersonic missile and banked away. The drop ships dipped and hugged the ground. A low rise on the horizon was lit up by irregular flashes of fire—the landing
zone was this side of the rise.

  One of the pilots shouted back to her.

  “Twenty seconds, Lieutenant!”

  The landing zone was a major industrial park just outside Abeona’s second city. A valuable target in its own right, it was expected to be lightly defended with lots of open space for drop ships to put down. The low rise to the north provided cover for the regiment to mass before attacking the main objective. The city itself.

  Enemy fire was concentrated on the top of the rise. Tracers whipped past the ship as it jinked left and right. Orange blasts struck down from King Alfred overhead. Katja was pushed against her straps as the ship decelerated and slammed down for landing.

  * * *

  Quickly she unstrapped, rifle in hand, and stepped aft into the main cabin. The ramp dropped and instantly her troopers were spilling out, firing into the blackness as they went. She reached the edge of the ramp and crouched, rifle raised, to assess.

  The air was filled with the thunder of the drop ship’s turrets, firing blindly at the distant buildings of the industrial complex. Her troopers hustled outward in an arc, forming their part of the protective ring. There were no flashes of enemy fire. The air was warm and fresh, with a hint of something like honeysuckle.

  She jogged down the ramp, felt her boots touch Centauri soil.

  “Sierra-Five clear,” she reported to the pilots. Immediately the ramp behind her began to rise, and the drop ship lifted off with a roar. All around, other drop ships were already beginning to climb into the sky, turrets blazing.

  Distant flashes from the ridge indicated Centauri defenses. Orange meteors rained down at random on the perimeter. A fast, metallic form stomped across her peripheral. She swung her rifle to bear but realized it was one of the Spartans, in towering shock troop armor. The Spartan was joined by four companions and they bounded off into the darkness.

  She jogged across the level ground—grass, not pavement—checking her forearm display. Her platoon was just reaching the cover of the nearest buildings, as planned. Their job was to hold the road that led into the industrial park, the main road from the west, until all three waves were safely on the ground.

  “All units, Drop Command,” a crackly voice said in her headset, “first wave in the dirt. ETA second wave one-five mikes.” Katja reached cover under the nearest building—modern, glass, clean lines—and nodded to Chang in the darkness.

  “First wave down. Fifteen minutes to wait.”

  “Fifth Platoon in position,” he replied.

  She switched to regimental frequency. “Sierra-Zero, Sierra-Five, in position.”

  “Sierra-Zero, roger.” Vici couldn’t be more than five hundred meters away, but there was static on the circuit.

  Katja did a quick visual survey. She, Chang, and five troopers were hunkered down at the corner of a building. Another squad of five was dug in against the building opposite her, across the street. The last of the drop ships was just lifting off, still firing at the ridgeline to the north. The twenty hover tanks that had come in the first wave were skimming across the ground in pairs to back up the infantry positions.

  The sky was dark with broken clouds. Fast-moving lights raced through the pockets of naked stars.

  Her forearm display revealed Rao and four more squads guarding the intersection one block west. The remaining four squads were scattered in sniper positions on the second floor of her building and the building opposite. The low, rumbling whirr of two hover tanks moving into position behind her gave added confidence.

  There was scattered fire from the ridge, and a few orbital bombardments in response. But they quickly faded into the background as she peered around the corner of the building, activating telescopic night-vision, and surveyed the road before her. The industrial park stretched for four blocks and the road continued into the countryside. There was nothing to see within the limits of her sight.

  There was a gentle breeze from the west, cool against her exposed mouth and chin. The road itself was some kind of short, tough vegetation, almost like a golf green. The Centauris had always worked to minimize their ecological footprint, not wanting to repeat the devastation of the Earth.

  One of the troopers stood up and looked around the corner over her head. She heard him exhale in frustration.

  “Let’s go, you bastards,” he said.

  “Easy, trooper,” Chang said. “You’ll get your chance.”

  Faint roars overhead drew everyone’s eyes up, but before they could be spotted the unknown craft were already gone.

  “Is that the second wave?” the trooper asked.

  “No,” Katja said, “not yet. Probably our strike fighters.”

  Static crackled in her headset, the words unintelligible. She checked her watch—about the right time for the second wave to be launching from Normandy. Her concern, however, was for the sudden lack of communications with orbit.

  “Sierra-Zero, Sierra-Five. Comms fading with Drop Command; assess probable jamming.”

  “This is Sierra-Zero … units hold position until … wave … assault on ridge …” Vici’s voice was barely readable through the static.

  Katja tapped Chang’s armored chest.

  “We’re being jammed—they’re coming. I’m moving forward to brief Rao. Hold this position at all costs.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Cover me.”

  A quick look around the corner, and she slipped out into the road. She paused for a moment, rifle up to her eye line. No threat. She ported the weapon and sprinted along the edge of the building. Her armor plates clacked softly with her rapid steps, her breathing quick and steady.

  She reached the end of the building, waving to her troopers on the far side of the intersection. One of them waved back. She peered down the street to the right, then around the corner to her left. Clear. Twenty long strides and she was across, crouching down next to Rao, forced to take a moment to get her breathing under control—too much time in zero-g.

  Through gasps she issued her sitrep.

  “Comms with Drop Command are jammed, and we’re losing local comms as well. Each squad will have to act independently. Your orders are to defend this road and keep the drop zone clear. Hold this ground.”

  Armor clicked as the troopers shifted in anticipation.

  Rao glanced skyward. “How are things in orbit?”

  “Not our concern. Let Fleet—” Her words were cut off by an ominous whistling overhead that grew quickly into a roar. The troopers threw themselves flat. Seconds later, the ground shook as a chunk of the road one block north of their position blasted into the air. Another whistling roar, and the road exploded half a block north.

  Troopers scrambled away. Katja blocked them.

  “Stand your ground! This road is where the enemy is coming from!”

  Another artillery shell smashed down, this time into one of the buildings at the intersection. Shrapnel rained down on them as two more explosions rocked the street. Katja stayed on her stomach, shouting at the troopers to hold firm. The barrage increased to a steady pounding, where all she could do was bury her head and hang on.

  When the shelling stopped, the intersection was clouded with dust and debris. The artillery strikes had moved east, into the central square of the landing zones. Huge holes were torn out of the grassy street. Katja forced her shaky legs to push up.

  “Looks like they shifted targets,” someone said. “Giving us a break!”

  Katja doubted such a Centauri kindness. The audio in her helmet was overloaded, and she lifted one ear to clear some dirt. As she did, she heard a new noise, one which she knew only too well. She peeped one eye around the corner. And immediately recoiled into a crouch.

  The corner of the building above her shattered under the force of the rocket impact, showering the troopers with glass.

  “APRs! Set grenades! Fire as one!”

  She rolled clear as three troopers took aim through the shattered wall. They fired. Across the intersection, she saw the oth
er squads coordinating their attack. Rockets smashed into them as she watched. Troopers fell and didn’t rise. Her squad loosed another volley of grenades. Rockets exploded all around her in response.

  She hit the ground hard. Lifting her head, she struggled to rise. Through the holes in the building she saw the flash of a silver hull as the lead APR advanced. She raised her rifle and tried to aim for a weapons pod. Through the wreckage and darkness it was impossible to be precise. She fired two at the center of mass.

  The body of the APR exploded backward, limbs spinning off in all directions. Katja stared in shock—her grenades hadn’t done that. A second APR just came into view before it was gutted and smashed. Then she heard a familiar, rumbling whirr and saw one of the hover tanks emerge from the eastern end of the intersection.

  Its giant rail-gun fired again. She heard another explosion. Rockets struck the armored beast with little effect. It fired again. Crawling forward, Katja peered through the wreckage of her corner and saw three APRs in rapid retreat. The tank sailed over the craters in the road, easily pursuing its quarry.

  Lights above caught her eye and she saw the massed drop ships thundering down to deliver the second wave. Artillery pounded the landing zone. A towering column of flame indicated at least one drop ship that wasn’t making it back.

  Troopers were picking themselves up around her. She looked down the western road again, just barely able to make out the last of the APRs in the distance. The hover tank had advanced another block, firing almost leisurely. She was just taking a deep, calming breath when she saw two dazzling lights erupt in the distant sky down the road. The lights elongated into streaks too fast to follow, striking down on the tank.

  It reeled back from the explosive, double impact, turret popping off like a toy. The flaming main body spun slowly before digging into the ground and flipping over.

  “Holy shit!” someone said.

  Seconds later, a new form emerged from the darkness, flying low over the street. Slim, silver body. Stubby wings with weapons pods. Another pair of blinding streaks launched forth from those pods as it roared overhead. Orange reflections off one of the building windows suggested the death of a second Terran tank.