by Bill Roberts
CHAPTER 3
Awful
At this altitude the planet doesn’t rush towards me so much as it simply grows. TACNET verifies a clean release for all sixty-two Kodiaks. I also see that the six Cougars of the scout platoon are away clean. Good to see nothing wrong there. I check my readouts on the dash and integrated in the 3-D display in front of me. Velocity reads two hundred kilometers an hour and climbing. Altitude reads seventy thousand meters. Perfect. I do not expect less than perfect from Gloria and her crew, but still I find it satisfying every time they nail a perfect drop profile.
TACNET winks in and out as my subordinates confirm all Kodiaks and Cougars away clean and on profile. Redundancy is a cornerstone of military communication. Yes, my readouts show me that, but I still want the reports from my subordinates. I respond to their reports with a simple, “Iron Six, roger.” The Kodiaks and Cougars spread as we drop, each unit aiming for its respective Landing Zone. Everything is absolutely on profile. With everything going smoothly I can simply concentrate on hitting my LZ with Charlie Company.
Awful has a gravitational pull of about one point two times Earth Standard. With that gravity and its associated atmospheric density, my Kodiak will have a terminal velocity in the neighborhood of seven hundred kilometers per hour. The readout shows five hundred. I feather the jump jets with my foot pedals. This keeps my speed down and helps me guide the Kodiak towards the landing zone. I love this part. The air buffeting my Kodiak, the little kick in the rear when I feather the jump jets, and the speed. It is exhilarating.
Altitude fifty thousand meters. A little more feathering. I scan the area around me. The sky seems filled with dropping Marines. I see my battalion’s sixty-two Kodiaks and six Cougars, of course, but interspersed with them are the infantrymen from the 2nd Marine Regiment. There are about two thousand of them in their much smaller Mobile Combat Suits. They wink like fireflies as they feather their jump jets on the way down. Mixed with the larger bouts of energy from the Kodiaks, it is as beautiful and exciting as the Fourth of July fireworks shows I watched as a child.
Altitude forty thousand meters. Everything still absolutely on profile. In fact, I should be hearing from…
“Iron Six, this is Iron Three.” Bennie’s face pops up on TACNET. “Tarawa Three,” the operations officer for 2nd Marines, my higher headquarters for this drop, “reports that everything is on profile.”
“Roger Iron Three.” Excellent. Drops usually go well in these early phases. But when they do not it means a rough day at the office.
Altitude thirty thousand meters. The ground fire starts. Lances of crimson light streak through our formation. Stupid Grotokai. At this range our speed and changing vectors make us incredibly difficult to hit. They are just uncovering their locations for the Navy above us. Despite Commodore Smith’s idiocy, his ships’ crews are as good as any in the Galaxy. Soon enough, the Navy’s fire slices down around us in streaks of brilliant light. More dead Grotokai. Suits me just fine.
Altitude twenty thousand meters. Hurtling through the gaps in our formation come the sixteen Vespines of VMFA-222 ‘The Flying Deuces’. Based off the Cruiser Quincy they have the job of providing the Marines of this Task Group with its close air support. As comfortable in atmosphere as they are in space, the sleek aerospace craft known as the Vespine moves with grace and power as it descends. After the Deuces finish passing through us they fire upon the Grotokai defenses. They then break hard to my left leaving a trail of countermeasures, still known as chaff and flares, to confuse ground fire in their wake. I feel a surge of gratitude. They do not really need the countermeasures; they are just trying to make it safer for us to hit our LZ’s.
Altitude ten thousand meters. Time to focus on landing this thing. The landing process can be tricky. Landing a Kodiak, like landing an aircraft, requires a bit of skill and a deft touch. If I break too hard too soon I will run the jet pack’s stored energy dry too high and crash. If I break too late I crash. If I feather it too much I become a slow moving target hideously exposed to ground fire. No problem. Between training and combat I have done this a great many times. I could go for a little flair just to remind the Marines in Charlie Company that Iron Six can pilot a Kodiak as good as anyone alive, but, this is combat. Flair is just not my style under those conditions. So I brake hard at fifteen hundred meters and land at about thirty kilometers per hour, a nice balance between the Kodiak’s ability to absorb shock and the exposure caused by braking sooner. The powerful legs of the Kodiak absorb most of the impact as I land and I barely feel it. A small cloud of dust billows around me from the crunch of the Kodiak’s feet and the blast given off by the jet pack. Nice.
The wind blows the dust away as I begin scanning the local area. The landing zone is a relatively flat stretch of rocky and sandy ground that looks greenish white in Awful’s green tinged atmosphere. Behind me, to my right, my wingman, Gunner Wright, has also touched down. Just in front of me the commander of Charlie Company and his company XO wingman have already begun moving north, their Kodiaks giving off small puffs of dust as their feet crunch into Awful’s surface. I see further ahead of me to the north the twelve other Kodiaks of Charlie fanning out in position behind a low rocky ridgeline. All according to plan.
The plan is dirt simple. Three of 2nd Heavy Armor Battalion’s companies have landed twenty kilometers south of the Grotokai compound. The fourth company, Delta, has landed with the 2nd Marine Regiment twenty kilometers west of the Grotokai compound. I would not command them this fight as they are attached to the Regiment to support them during their part of the attack. I would take my three companies north to assume a support by fire position and pound the Grotokai while the infantry, with Delta Company spearheading, would conduct an assault on the compound. I like the plan. Simple is always good. Fancy maneuvers and complex choreography just mean more things to go wrong. Which, of course, they inevitably will.
TACNET comes to life as Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie companies report.
“Iron Six this is Iron Alpha. We are all down and set.”
“Iron Six this is Iron Bravo. We are all down and set.”
“Iron Six this is Iron Charlie. We are all down and set.”
“Iron Six this is Iron Scouts. We are all down and set.”
“Iron Six this is Iron Five. Headquarters is down and set.” My XO has landed with Bravo Company off to my right. She is reporting for the six (including me) Kodiaks of the headquarters staff.
“Iron Six Roger,” I respond. I dial up Colonel James Rainer, the commanding officer of 2nd Marines, on the TACNET. “Tarawa Six this is Iron Six. All Kodiaks down and set. Ready to commence attack.”
His young, dark black face and muddy brown eyes look back at me. The perspective of the camera showing his face would inform me instantly that he was in a Mobile Combat Suit (MCS) if I didn’t know it already. One pilots a Kodiak, so the cockpit space gives enough distance for the camera to have a normal perspective. One wears an MCS. There is no space so the fisheye style lens of the camera distorts the face a bit. “Roger Iron Six,” he replies.
I have most likely reported first. I only had fifty-four vehicles to worry about in this fight. Each of the three infantry battalions in the regiment have over six hundred infantrymen to worry about. Their reporting is going to take a bit more time, but not much, 2nd Marines is like an extension of their commander, professional, capable, and very good at what they do. It should not take more than a minute or two for the order to come down.
While I wait for the order, Larry contacts me on a private channel: “Good landing. I’m gonna have to talk to the scouts though. They braked a little early. That’s just fucking lazy.” It is the master gunner’s job to be the expert Kodiak pilot of the battalion. He tracks everybody’s skill level, runs technical training, and watches everyone like a hawk during operations to make sure they are doing the right thing.
I reply. “Lieutenant Kim,” the scou
t platoon commander, “normally runs a tight ship. What do you think is going on, Larry?”
Larry gruffs back, “They’re just bored. Getting complacent. These Grotokai ain’t no Synti. It’s too easy to whip their ass.”
Hmm. I will have to keep an eye on Lieutenant Kim and her platoon. I absolutely trust Larry’s judgment, but I need to make my own assessment. Just part of the job.
While I am pondering what to do with the scouts, the regimental tactical net opens on my TACNET and I see the image of Colonel Rainer and his other battalion commanders. “Tarawa this is Tarawa Six. Move to your assault positions and report when set.”
I wait for the responses of the three infantry battalions then reply, “Tarawa Six, Iron Six. Roger.”
I switch nets on TACNET and continue. “Guidons (shorthand for all of my commanders) this is Iron Six, move out to assault positions.” They all roger up as I put my Kodiak in motion to follow Charlie Company to my front.
The Kodiak moves gracefully forward. The two massive legs take long strides as I accelerate to thirty kilometers per hour. I could, of course, go much faster, even with Awful’s strong gravity I could probably get it up to a hundred kilometers per hour, but anything over thirty would cause me to transition from walking to running. For tactical reasons we do not want to do that. First, it would shake the ground like a modern equivalent of the armored cavalry charge at Hastings. Second, it would cause us to raise a meter or more, higher than the Kodiak’s ten-meter height as we bound across the ground. Both of these things would make us much easier to detect. The Grotokai probably knew where we landed, but there’s no sense in making the enemy’s job easier in tracking us now that we are on the ground.
I cross the low ridge we landed behind. The true advantage of legs over tank tracks, or anything else for that matter, is the mobility provided. I can cross terrain that would have stymied even the most mobile vehicles of my youth. Coupled with the Kodiak’s jet pack, I could traverse and fight in any terrain. Awful would not present any significant challenges in terrain, it is a pretty smooth ball in general, and the Grotokai have picked a gently rolling plain to set up their base. There are a few rocky ridges in the plain, but nothing that would slow us down.
I can see Charlie spread out in front of me from left to right. To my far right I can make out elements of Alpha, about two klicks (kilometers) to my front. I check my tactical display. It sits in the lower left of my 3-D display. I can see icons representing the whole battalion in a line moving north on the display’s moving map. About three klicks in front of the line of Kodiaks I can see the scout platoon widely spread out and moving fast. The Cougar is a lot like the Kodiak only lighter and smaller. Its purpose is to act as heavy reconnaissance. Lieutenant Kwan Kim and her Marines will scout the assault position before we get there to make sure we don’t get any nasty surprises. She will also get ‘eyes on’ the Grotokai compound and confirm our intel on the place as well as see what they are up to.
It will take us about thirty minutes to reach the assault position. I could use TACNET to fill the time. But that would serve no tactical purpose so I resist the urge to connect with my fellow humans. The armored cocoon that my cockpit sits in has no real connection to the outside world besides the two vision blocks periscoped down to a couple of simple mirrors behind my display. To pass the time while marching to battle, I try to simply concentrate on moving across the rolling terrain. Unfortunately, it is simple, mechanical; it can’t hold all of my thoughts. I think of other battles I have been in. I think of old friends long gone. I think of Poe. I run through El Dorado in my mind. I find the last stanza particularly relevant:
“Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,”
The shade replied—
“If you seek for El Dorado!”
I deliberately do not think of my friends. And I definitely do not think of her. Such thoughts would make this all the more difficult.
The time passes and soon enough Lieutenant Kim’s face pops up in TACNET. “Iron Six this is Scouts. We have reached the assault position. All clear. Moving in position to get eyes on the Grotokai.”
“Roger Scouts.” I don’t forward her report to my other commanders. She sent it on BnTac1. They could hear her report as well as I could. Lieutenant Kim almost looked bored as she made her report. Larry was right, of course. I am going to have to talk to her later. Hell, I am probably going to have to talk to everybody. I am glad our current turn supporting the Elowynn is almost at an end. My battalion is very good, but the routine and relative ease of smashing pirate outposts is beginning to cause my Marines to become bored. That is going to get one or more of them killed sooner or later. Even Grotokai pirates can kill you if you get complacent.
“Six this is Scouts.” Kim again. “We have eyes on. The layout of the compound matches the intel. I can see a few smashed bunkers from the bombardment. I have picked out a couple of other ones. I am uploading those now.” They appear on my tactical display in red near the compound already plotted. “No apparent activity, looks like they have gone to ground and are awaiting our assault.”
“Roger Scouts,” I reply.
“Six this is Three.” Now it is Bennie’s face looking at me from the TACNET. “Tarawa reports their scouts in position as well. They confirm that assessment. They spotted a few different bunkers.” More red on my display. “The Deuce sees nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Roger Three.” Because the Deuce is the S-3’s back-seater, it allowed them to easily work together throughout the course of the operation. Which is the entire point, obviously. They are following Alpha Company on the far right. They would work with the S-3 and the S-2 of 2nd Marines via TACNET to keep us all aware and working together.
I reach the assault position. The commanders all call in as set. I contact Tarawa Six to let him know we are set and then start to scan the ridgeline in front of me. It is one of the few rocky features in the area. It is a series of sharp, craggy, granite hills rising about five hundred meters from the surrounding ground. The beryl interspersed through the granite glints in the light given off by Awful’s star. I can just pick out a couple of the scouts on the military crest above me. They have extended masts from their Cougars’ backs to poke sensors over the top of the ridge. The mast is another one of the things that make the Cougar different from a Kodiak. It allowes them to observe the enemy while remaining completely concealed behind terrain. I contact the platoon commander “Scouts pull back and begin heading to your screening position.” The assault would be starting soon. Kim and her Cougars, with their lighter armor and weaponry, would not be much use in the assault. I am sending them to the preplanned screening position to the east, to cover our exposed right flank.
“Roger Six” Kim replies. They quickly back down the ridge and begin working their way to the east.
I wait for the final order committing us to the fight. A lifetime ago this time spent waiting while the infantry prepared for their assault would have been unbearable. At the edge of a fight waiting is a terrible place for the uninitiated. Your fear of death gnaws at you while your sense of responsibility to the Marines around you weighs you down. It becomes this unbearable pressure that makes you want to run away as fast as you can. But your sense of duty and your fear of cowardice hold you in place. This transforms your desire to run away into a desire to release the pressure by attacking as soon as possible. I still vividly remember the first time I felt this in the Iraq war outside a place called Fallujah. It had felt terrible. But that was a lifetime ago. The feelings are still there, in a way, but they have become familiar over time and they no longer carry the tension they first did. Besides, I have learned over the long years since that day outside Fallujah that there are greater things to fear than death and greater responsibilities than those to your fellow Marines in battle.
Colonel Rain
er’s face pops up on TACNET and he barks: “Iron Six this is Tarawa Six. Assault! Assault! Assault!”
“Roger Tarawa.” I hammer TACNET. “Guidons. Assault! Assault! Assault!”
Almost as one the Kodiaks of my battalion start pounding up the ridge. Like a reverse avalanche of metal, they storm up the rock in a thunderous din. Near the top they slow and rotate their left arms till the massive weapons that make up the left forearm poke over the top of the ridge. The only things visible from the north side of the ridge would be a small portion of the top of the Kodiak where our sensors are and the snouts of our main guns. I want the first shots to be a volley of the entire battalion. This would provide the most shock to the enemy. The sectors of fire had been pre-planned. The pilots of each Kodiak know their targets. Time. I calmly say: “All Iron elements standby … Fire.”
The first volley crashes out. The main gun on a Kodiak uses electromagnetic forces to hurl a very dense, fifty millimeter by two hundred millimeter projectile at sixty thousand kilometers per hour. The speed of the projectile creates so much heat in the air around it that it makes a streak of light along its path. At our range of four to six thousand meters firing and impact are virtually simultaneous. The projectiles smash into the bunkers defending the compound and explode in a brilliant flash.
The feeling of power rushes through me. It begs me to keep firing, to keep smashing and destroying. I curb it with practiced ease. I am the commander; I have other things to do. I lower my weapon but remain in place to continue to observe. My Marines begin individual fire and the main guns continue to lance into the Grotokai as each pilot picks out targets. The dust and debris thrown up from our fire makes observation a challenge. Well, a challenge for the human eye. The Kodiak has a tremendous sensor suite that I use to pierce the chaos. The sensors on a Kodiak can sense all along the electromagnetic spectrum as well as sound. They can also actively use radar, laser, and sound energy. The computer translates all of that information into a usable visual picture in my display. So I can still make out much of the damage my battalion is doing to the Grotokai compound. However, no system is omnipotent. There is just too much interference to see everything clearly. No problem. That is where experience and training come in.