by D. J. Holmes
Chapter 28 – Contact
Whilst the various land armies of the human nations forming the Empire weren’t prepared for the War of Doom, what the Karacknids had that passed for ground troops were in a far worse state. Nevertheless, the Karacknids had one advantage over us, being predators on their home planet, everyone of their species could fight when called to.
-Excerpt from Empire Rising, 3002 AD
Marine Lieutenant Jason Stromboli strode through the Havenite forest. Though his senses were on the lookout for an ambush, he couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the alien plant life. Having grown up on the British Mars colony, he loved spending all the free time he could get on Earth exploring what remained of its diverse ecosystems. Until the war with the Indians he had never left the Sol system, now, after more than five years in the Marines, he was finally setting foot on an alien planet.
Too bad I can’t stop and take a few samples, Stromboli thought. Shaking himself, he forced thoughts of the strange plant life all around him out of his mind. He had more than twenty marines ahead of him scouting out the forest but even so, he needed to have his wits about him.
“Any sign of trouble up ahead?” he asked Sergeant Larson over the platoon COM channel.
“Nothing but these overgrown leaves and forest shrubbery,” Larson replied. “Though there could be an Indian soldier standing ten meters from me and I wouldn’t see him.”
“Well, keep on the lookout anyway,” Stromboli ordered.
“I think we’ve reached the clearing,” Larson announced over the COM channel five minutes later.
“Don’t get any closer,” Stromboli ordered. “Wait till I get there.”
Stromboli caught up to where Larson and three of his scouts were crouched. Traversing through the Havenite forest reminded Stromboli of being on Earth and going on hikes on the full moon. Though some sunlight penetrated the thick foliage, it wasn’t nearly enough to properly illuminate the forest. Now that he was at the edge of the forest, it once again looked like day time.
“What can you see?” Stromboli asked Larson.
“The supply depot is definitely out there,” Larson said pointing at an angle beyond the edge of the forest line. “So far, we haven’t come across any sign of Indian troops, nor even scouts or sensors.”
“The Indians already know we’re here,” Stromboli said. “They’ll have expected us to advance roughly along this route. They may be conserving their scouts, or they’ll spread them out to watch some of the other approaches to the depot. They may think we are planning a surprise attack from another direction.”
“Either way,” Sergeant Larson said, “I’m not complaining.”
“I’m going to take a closer look,” Stromboli said. “Take your men and fall back twenty meters. Set up a defensive line. If we have to fall back I want to be ready. When the rest of the platoon gets here tell them to take a rest. We’ll be making our attack soon.”
Stromboli made his way towards the edge of the tree line. Making sure not to poke his head or any other body part beyond the last strands of the Havenite foliage, he peered towards the supply depot. The depot was built in a slight hollow and even from his position at ground level, he was able to look down at the depot and see over the first line of defenses. As the briefing intel had told him, there were two walls running around the depot. The inner wall had a series of large, reinforced guard towers with heavy plasma cannons placed on them. The outer wall was smaller, but it looked like it had many slots for soldiers to shoot from. The large guard towers would be the primary targets when the assault began. However, the small outer wall would make things very difficult. Stromboli knew Sanders didn’t have enough firepower to take out all of the outer wall. The open ground from the tree line to the depot was going to become a killing field.
Running his eye around the perimeter of the supply depot, Stromboli did a quick count of the defenders. He could see almost a hundred Indian soldiers in combat armor standing in plain view. He guessed there could be another hundred taking cover behind the outer defensive wall. Within the depot itself, there could be another couple of hundred or even more. Though he would bet on one of his marines against any Indian soldier, he knew the Indians weren’t to be taken lightly. I guess this is what I signed up for, he thought as he contemplated the coming prospect of his first real experience of combat.
Satisfied the Indians hadn’t erected any more defenses than the fleet intel had shown, Stromboli made his way back to the defensive line his platoon was setting up. Shortly after making sure everything was in order, he received a COM message to report to Colonel Sanders.
“Yes Sir?” Stromboli said as he approached Colonel Sanders. The Colonel was watching the squad of military engineers who had accompanied their regiment as part of the first wave of troops.
“You have laid eyes on the supply depot?” Sanders asked.
“Yes Colonel,” Stromboli replied.
“What did you make of their defenses?” Sanders asked. “No nasty surprises waiting for us?”
“Not that I could see,” Stromboli answered. “The defenses are formidable without the Indians needing any surprises.”
“So you don’t recommend any changes to our plan of attack?” Sanders asked.
“No,” Stromboli replied. “If the engineers can cover our advance, we should be able to breach the first line of defenses. Once we reach them, at worst we can use them as cover to clear the second wall of defenders before we advance further.”
“Very good,” Sanders said. “We will begin our assault once the military engineers have their toys set up. I’m holding seventh platoon in reserve, they lost more than two thirds of their strength when those two shuttles were destroyed. They will be ready to react if the Indians launch any kind of counter-attack. God speed Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, we’ll do you proud Colonel,” Stromboli said as he saluted and turned to head back to his platoon.
*
“It’s about to begin,” Johnston said to Clare as she stood beside him.
“How can you tell?” She asked.
“I can sense it, it’s the quiet before the storm,” he answered. “It’s time for you to head back, this is going to be ugly.”
“All right,” Clare said. “Just make sure you don’t take any unnecessary risks. This nightmare is about to be over, I don’t want to lose you at the final hurdle.”
“I won’t, I promise,” Johnston assured her.
“And I hope you know I know what you did,” Clare said as she shook her finger at Johnston. “I’m going to hold you to that promise.”
“Stay safe,” Johnston said to Clare as she turned to leave.
His team of resistance fighters had brought as many supplies as they could carry with them on their trek from the resistance camp. Johnston had known the attack on the supply depot would only be the beginning. His men needed enough supplies and ammunition for at least several days of fighting. Driving the Indians out of Liberty was likely to take that long if not longer. The resistance fighters who had survived the past several months of guerrilla warfare would be vital to the British forces when it came to fighting their way through Liberty. They knew every nook and cranny of the city and where every good hiding spot or ambush site was. As a result, he had ordered more than half of his force to remain behind to protect the supplies. There had been a few complaints, but after he explained just how many battles were likely to still be ahead, the complaints had died down.
Putting Clare in charge of the fighters he was leaving behind had been the most logical solution, she wasn’t a fighter and most of her activities for the resistance had been as a scout or as a leader overseeing one of the different resistance camps. Of course, Johnston had also put her in charge so she wouldn’t be involved in the coming battle. He wanted to keep her as safe as possible.
“When do we attack?” Maguire asked. After the attack on the Indian hanger, Maguire had escaped the Indian forces who had pursued his fighters and disappeared fo
r several weeks as the survivors from his resistance group mourned their losses. Johnston hadn’t been sure Maguire would respond to his call to action. Yet, less than half an hour ago, he had turned up with another twenty men and women ready for the attack.
“Not until the marines advance,” Johnston answered. “We want the Indians’ full attention to be on them. If we advance and the Indians are ready for us, they will cut us to pieces. Our job is just to cause a diversion. To make the Indians look over their shoulders so the marines can get among them. If your people are taking too many casualties fall back to the tree line and pour fire into the base. Even that will help the marines.”
“Okay,” Maguire said. “I’ll go and speak to my fighters before we charge.”
“Very well,” Johnston said. “Thanks for coming,” he added. “I know you suffered a lot of losses the last time we fought together. But,” Johnston said as he placed his hand on Maguire’s shoulder and turned him to face the supply depot, “there will be a lot more marines alive today because of our actions.”
“Just so long as they get the Indians out of here,” Maguire said. “A lot of Havenite blood has been spilt to get us to this point. I just hope we still have our freedom after your fleet, your marines and your government has set itself up here.”
Johnston had heard this more than once, alongside Councilwoman Pennington, Maguire was one of the most vocal voices when it came to articulating concern over what the British had planned for Haven. “You’ll see we are different from the Indians,” Johnston said, not for the first time. “If our forces’ willingness to fight and die for your colony today doesn’t show that to you, then I don’t know what will convince you.”
“Time will tell,” Maguire said. “For now we’re allies, so let’s get this done.”
“Agreed,” Johnston said.
“He’s a touchy fellow,” Sergeant Briar said after Maguire had disappeared into the forest towards where his group of fighters were awaiting the command to charge.
“He’s not the only one,” Johnston replied. “Our government’s going to have their hands full dealing with them once the Indians are defeated. This Indian occupation has only served to strengthen the Havenites’ pride and sense of independence.”
“Worrying about that is way above my pay grade,” Sergeant Briar said. “I’m just looking forward to a nice warm shower on one of those warships up in orbit. Never thought I would be looking forward to getting back on board one of his Majesty’s ships. After so many months out in this forest it’s going to seem extremely small, however, for a wash and some freshly cooked steaks, I’m sure I could get used to it again.”
“Let’s just make sure we survive today so we get to enjoy such things again,” Johnston replied. “Our squad has lost enough soldiers already.”
Briar could only nod in agreement. Of their initial nine special forces marines, four were still able to continue the fight. Lieutenant Moony and Privates Harte, Reynolds and McFarland had been killed while Samuels had lost her leg and was with Councilwoman Pennington and the other injured resistance fighters.
The silence of the forest was disrupted as green bolts shot from the sky and tens of explosions erupted all around the west side of the supply depot. Instinctively, Briar ducked for cover. “What’s going on?” he asked when it became clear the explosions weren’t targeting their position.
“The ships in orbit,” Johnston said. “They’re tearing up the ground around the supply depot. All those craters will provide extra cover for the marines as they advance. Smart thinking.”
“It’s a pity they didn’t think of us,” Briar shouted over the din of the explosions.
Almost as if someone up in orbit had heard Briars’ complaint, the stream of heavy plasma bolts pouring out of the sky spread out and moved around the supply depot. Someone in the Indian base must have recognized what the British were doing for their anti-plasma cannons began to intercept many of the plasma bolts coming down from orbit. Even so, less than sixty seconds after the first bolts descended, they disappeared, leaving behind a ring of craters surrounding the supply depot.
“Well,” Briar said, “that should make life a little easier. I guess this means the attack is about to commence.”
Johnston didn’t reply, instead he looked over the top of the supply depot towards the opposite tree line. With his enhanced vision, he could clearly see movement. The British marines were about to attack.
*
“Thirty seconds,” Stromboli said over his platoon’s COM channel.
Six shells burst through the Haven forest and arced into the air towards the supply depot. The supply depot’s automatic defenses detected the incoming ordnance but, calculating that the shells would fall a hundred meters short of the base, none of the depot’s point defenses engaged them. As each shell hit the ground, a small cloud of dust erupted from the impact, but there was no explosion.
Half a kilometer back into the forest, the lead military engineer looked over to Colonel Sanders. “The ordinances are in position,” he said.
“Bring them online,” Sanders ordered.
A rear hatch in each of the shells spun open and a large cylinder shot into the air. It exploded, giving off a huge amount of electromagnetic radiation. The intense light momentarily blinded the Indian soldiers who had been peering in the expected direction of the British attack. Specifically designed to overload the optical sensors used by the Indian soldiers’ combat armor, almost every Indian soldier’s hands flew to take off his helmet as the light caused his HUD to shut down. At the same time, the thermal and other electromagnetic wavelengths of energy released by the devices overwhelmed the targeting sensors of many of the Indian weapon emplacements.
Having been warned to keep their heads down, the British marines were unaffected. Within seconds, they were on their feet and charging across the open ground towards the Indian base.
Stromboli knew the gizmos the military engineers had brought with them would only blind the defenders for several seconds. As he charged out of the forest, he picked a large crater almost two hundred meters in front of him. Designating it with his HUD so that the rest of his platoon would know their target, he tore towards the crater and the protection it would give from the Indian fire that was about to crash down on them.
As he ran, time seemed to slow down. Keeping his focus between the crater he was charging towards, and the Indian base, first he saw one, then two Indian soldiers poke their head above the inner defensive wall. They raised plasma cannons to their shoulders and fired. Within a matter of seconds the incoming fire went from one or two plasma bolts to hundreds as more and more of the Indian soldiers regained their wits and fired on the attackers.
Stromboli fired his plasma rifle as he ran. All along the British line, hundreds more plasma bolts shot towards the Indian defenders. Despite their training, it was impossible to be as accurate on the run as the Indian soldiers sheltering behind their defenses and marines began to fall.
Diving into the crater for cover, Stromboli looked up just in time to see several hyper velocity rockets arc out from the forest line. They struck the large guard towers, taking out their heavy plasma cannons. Looking around to make sure his platoon was still with him, Stromboli crawled to the edge of the crater and poked his plasma rifle over its lip.
He sighted on a number of Indian soldiers stretched over the inner defensive wall firing down at the British attackers. Squeezing the trigger, he sent out a flurry of plasma bolts. The first two hit their target, killing an Indian soldier. The rest of the soldiers ducked to escape his fire. Switching targets, Stromboli sighted in on the smaller defensive wall. Though he couldn’t see any of the Indian soldiers hiding behind it, there was a constant stream of plasma bolts coming out of the slots on the wall. Without bothering to aim, he sent another burst of plasma bolts at the wall. Tracking left and right Stromboli made sure to fire at as many of the slots as he could. He knew there was very little chance he would be able to hit the soldier tak
ing cover behind the wall, instead he hoped his fire would distract the Indian soldiers enough to disrupt their aim.
“Get ready,” Stromboli ordered. By now most of the marines had advanced to craters roughly in line with his own. It was time for the engineers to play their second hand.
Crawling back from the lip of the crater, Stromboli rose to his feet. Overhead, hundreds of plasma bolts crisscrossed the open land between the depot and the forest. Sanders’ second wave of marines had taken up position along the forest’s edge and were pouring fire towards the supply depot. As the first wave of attackers ceased fire and prepared for another charge, the Indian soldiers redirected their fire towards the forest line.
Several massive explosions erupted less than three hundred meters above his head. Howitzer shells, Stromboli thought. He could just make out the faint smoke trail of the counter missiles the engineers had launched to intercept the shells.
“It’s unreal,” one of the soldiers beside Stromboli said as he looked up at the maze of plasma bolts shooting back and forth under the light from the expanding fireballs.