by Bill Roberts
I cannot see it directly, but my tactical display compiles the information from my battalion’s Kodiaks as they pop their sensors and weapons over the ridge and begin firing. The compound is completely covered in dust and fire. Amazingly many Deeken still survive and return fire. They should have waited a few more moments. By firing they just paint themselves for the sixteen Vespins of VMFA-222 as they come sweeping in from east to west. They unleash hundreds of high speed kinetic rockets from about ten kilometers out. More explosions and dust fill the air as red icons disappear from the display. At about three kilometers out the Vespins pull out of their attack run dropping four one thousand kilogram bombs each. The bombs burrow into the ground and explode with cataclysmic force. Before the shock and noise of the bombs recede another salvo of artillery rounds land, mixing with the steady stream of fire from my Kodiaks. We Marines refer to this way of fighting as combined arms. I like to think of it like a symphony. Woodwinds, mixed with strings, mixed with brass, make for richer, deeper music than any of the subgroups do singly. The same thing happens with aerospace, mixed with arty, mixed with Kodiaks. As I survey the destruction a part of me revels in the horrible beauty of it all.
There is no return fire anymore. I imagine there are still more than a few Deeken alive down there, some in deep bunkers, some in spots that were not targeted, and some who are just lucky. But they have had enough of tangling with Kodiaks, Vespines, and artillery at range. They will lie low till the infantry forced them out of their holes or killed them. My Kodiaks cease fire as there are no more active targets to shoot. They continue to scan the target area warily. The artillery will continue their barrage for another five minutes if I let them. I decide to. It will keep the Deekens’ heads down until the assault force is right on top of them. I punch up TACNET: “Tarawa Six, this is Iron Six. The objective is completely suppressed. The artillery fires will continue until time one two. Recommend you start your assault now.”
“Iron Six, this is Tarawa Six. We’re already on our way. Watch for the markers.” Colonel Rainer’s face disappears as he completes his transmission.
I contact my commanders to inform them that the assault force is moving through and they roger up crisply. With the assault in progress and the enemy completely cowed I decide guarding the flank is no longer the best use of my time. I contact Alpha company: “Alpha Six, this is Iron Six. I need you to pull one platoon back to cover the right rear and flank. I need to get up on those hills.”
“Roger Iron Six. I am sending the platoon now,” Captain Martin replies with smooth confidence.
I make some adjustments to TACNET then transmit: “Three this is Six. I want you to switch out with a platoon from Delta. I need you back in reserve.”
Bennie smiles at me as he responds: “No worries, Six. I’ll get it done post haste.”
My Kodiak quickly climbs the hill to my south. I pass four Kodiaks wearing the markings of Third Platoon, Alpha Company as they head off to protect the battalion’s flank and rear. When I reach the top my sensors begin augmenting the TACNET information in my display. It sharpens up my picture of the compound and clarifies the hordes of blue icons coming in from the east. The compound is completely shrouded in dust, smoke, and fire. Good. Burn you Deeken bastards. From behind me I hear Hildebrandt report over the TACNET and intercom: “Shot, rounds complete target number mike bravo five two one five.” He pauses a moment to check his chronograph then continues: “The last rounds will impact in two zero seconds.”
Hildebrandt has done a great job today. I decide praise is most definitely in order and over the intercom I say: “You did good today Hildebrandt. Real good. While I was busy messing around with those damn Deeken trucks you kept the fire support plan rolling. Thanks for the hard work.”
“Just doing my job, Sir,” Hildebrandt replies modestly.
The assault force smashes into the Deeken compound. I watch as the Kodiaks from Charlie Company lead the way through, blasting away at any Deeken that pokes his head out. Behind them the Marines fan out and start entering the wrecked buildings and working their way down into the surviving bunkers. I admire their teamwork and efficiency. I believe 2nd Battalion has the lead today and it looks like Lieutenant Colonel Talan Lal has his boys and girls operating like a well-oiled machine. Marines are very good at their job, by and large, but 2nd Marines seems to take it to a whole other level. I am very glad to work with them.
My TACNET comes to life and I see Lieutenant Vanske’s and the XO’s face pop up in the display. The XO hammers out: “Six, Five, we are in contact with about ….” There is a pause and I can tell by the motion of the XO’s head that she is tracking and engaging a target. Her face clears a bit and she continues: “I was going to say twenty, but now it is nineteen Deeken vics. It looks like they have set around Gunner Fitzpatrick’s Kodiak and they are using it as bait.”
Before I can respond Lieutenant Vanske interjects: “Six, Scouts. The gunner doesn’t have time for this. I am going to jump scouts over the Deeken and set a cordon around his Kodiak.” I can tell by the subtle changes on Vanske’s face that he has hit the jump jets on his Kodiak.
The XO’s professional mask cracks a bit as she says: “What are you doing? Your Cougars cannot take on that much firepower. I will make the jump. You follow.”
Vanske smiles broadly. “The two of you are not enough for a proper cordon.” “Don’t worry ma’am. We got this.”
One might take Vanske’s actions as reckless. I did not. The XO is right that the enemy vehicles are far more dangerous to a Cougar than a Kodiak. However, Vanske is also right about the XO and her wingman not being enough for a cordon. In this case the better cordon is more important and more urgent. If the Deeken lost control of their bait, they would simply destroy Fitzpatrick’s Kodiak just to deny us the opportunity to save him. If the XO has one fault it is her unwillingness to risk Marines without first risking herself. She shies away from ordering people into dangerous situations unless she leads the way. Monumentally brave, she is always willing to lead the way, but she loses sight of how sometimes a leader has to let the risks of our profession fall on someone else.
I better interject here, before the XO jumps in on the heels of the scout platoon. There is a better use for her two Kodiaks. I hammer on TACNET and start spitting out orders: “Five, you and your wingman follow them in, but not on jump, on the ground. Keep the Deeken divided in focus.” I open up another channel. “Alpha Red One,” The platoon commander for First Platoon, Alpha Company, “follow me on the jump.” I hammer my foot pedals and climb skyward rapidly. Gunner Jones and Red Platoon follow quickly behind. I picked Red Platoon because Gunner Fitzpatrick is from that platoon. I continue on TACNET: “Alpha Six, I am borrowing Red Platoon for a bit. Iron Three, you have command of the support by fire. Six, Out.”
By saying, out, I indicate I need no response. I have too much to do right now. The scouts are about ten kilometers away. The planet we are fighting on has a gravity of about point seven of Earth Standard. If I push it perfectly I can make a ten kilometer jump. I will run my jump jets completely dry of stored energy and it will take almost five minutes for the power supply to recharge them completely. That may not sound like much, but in combat five minutes is an eternity. In combat some risks are worth taking.
While airborne I set my desired destination in my tactical display and the computer generates an optimal arc for me to follow. The arc glows red indicating that the computer thought I would not make it. I know better. The computer has too many safety factors programmed into it. I have piloted Kodiaks long enough to know the limits of these safety factors and know how far I can really go.
As I climb through three thousand meters I open a new channel on TACNET. Captain Hiller appears in my TACNET screen. “Four, Six. Get the assault birds on the way. I’ll have this sorted out before they get down here.” Hiller rogers up and I switch to the intercom: “FSO, the Oxes should be on their way down re
al soon. Get with the air officer and make sure they are and arrange some cover for them with 222.” He rogers up as I start to take in the tableau around Gunner Fitzpatrick’s down Kodiak.
I see Vanke’s Cougars banging away at a large group of Deeken vehicles rushing his cordon. Two of the cougars are down, but my TACNET shows me that their pilots are still alive. To the Cougars’ north I see the XO and her wingman running in firing at the rapid rate. The four remaining Scouts are fighting brilliantly. They use the natural cover provided by the hilly terrain, shift their positions constantly so the enemy cannot lock them down and steadily pick off the enemy trying to kill them. If he lives I am going to give the brave bastard a medal for this. Vanske is taking an awful risk, but he is doing it to save a downed comrade. That sort of behavior must be rewarded.
I follow the arc in my display through its apex and begin arcing down towards the scrap below. New blue icons pop up on my tactical display as the Oxes and Vespines start heading towards us. Another TACNET channel and I start talking: “Deuces,” the call sign for the Vespine squadron, “this is Iron Six. I am inbound from the south of the target area on jump jets with five Kodiaks, I have eight friendlies on the target engaging approximately a dozen enemy vehicles. I need you to sweep up any of them that leave the target area.”
A face wearing the distinctive helmet of an aerospace pilot responds: “Roger Iron Six, we’ll be there in two minutes. Do you need us to deal with any of the enemy in the target area?”
“Negative. I got ‘em. Six, out,” I reply quickly.
The Kodiak feels alive around me. I soak it up and my pulse races. Time to bring the pain. I am about three kilometers out and descending rapidly. I start hearing and seeing warning alarms for low jump jet power. I slap the override. At my altitude I can clearly see all of the enemy vehicles. Furthermore, between the XO and the Scouts the enemy is so busy they have not noticed me jumping in. My lips curl back in a snarl. With my ability to see all of them at once and the fact that they do not see me these Deeken are mine to destroy. I decide to use my missiles. I yank the trigger and twelve missiles shoot out from their bays on either side of the cockpit, quickly followed by another twelve, just to make sure. Riding the last of my jump jet power I follow them in. The missiles finish off the enemy in a rapid string of powerful explosions that roll over me in a rapid string of crunching booms. The enemy annihilated I guide my Kodiak down next to Vanske’s Cougar just as I run out of jump power. A rush of pure animal exultation surges through me. That is how it is done motherfuckers. I must have yelled that last bit. I hear Hildebrandt on the intercom say “Fuckin’ A Right Sir.”
The Kodiaks following me alight at various distances from the cordon. It looks like only I and the very experienced Gunner Jones have made the full ten kilometer jump. I get the monster inside me under control and reply more calmly: “Forget I said anything Hildebrandt. It was unprofessional.”
Hildebrandt replies: “Aye Aye, Sir.” I sense that he does not really mean it. Great. I can just imagine the story he will tell back aboard ship.
I open up a TACNET channel to the XO: “Five, Six. Start working the extract. After you get Alpha Two Two out, start working the others. Looks like we’re clear now. I’ve got to talk to the Three.” Without waiting for a response I cut the channel and open a new one to Bennie: “Three, Six. Give me a sitrep,” sitrep is shorthand for situation report.
“Iron Six, Iron Three,” he replies. “2nd Marines is done clearing the objective. Tarawa Three has given us the go ahead to start pulling out for the Stern. I am working with the Stern and 461 now. We’ll use the standard pull out plan. I will get back with you when you’re up.”
“Roger Three,” I return. “Good work today Bennie. See you aboard ship.” He responds with something I do not quite catch and cuts the link. I lean back in my chair. Sudden exhaustion sweeps over me. A hard day of fighting like this keeps you on edge far longer than the human body is meant for. When calm returns and you are finally safe you feel like a deflated balloon. God, I need a drink. I shake these feelings off and open up the TACNET. I can relax later. Right now I have a battalion to extract.
The officer’s pub envelops me in its warm ambience as I enter. The retrograde and debriefing had gone quite smoothly. The best part was finding out that although six of my Kodiaks and two of my Cougars had been knocked out none of the pilots had been killed. Fitzpatrick and a warrant officer from Bravo Company are in the medical bay with serious injuries, but now that they are under the care of the ship’s surgeon I had every expectation that they will survive. Their injuries will likely force them into medical retirement, but under the circumstances it could have been so much worse.
As I reach the bar I end up next to Gunner Jones. She is facing away from me and engrossed in a conversation with Captain Martin. I order a couple of beers from the steward manning the bar. I look back at Martin and he sees me behind Jones and nods in greeting. This causes Jones to turn around. As soon as she recognizes me she says: “Howdy, Sir.”
I smile and reply: “Good work today Juniper.” I look over her shoulder at Martin and add: “You too Bill.”
Martin nods and says: “Thanks, Sir.”
Jones smiles hugely and says: “Thank ya’ kindly sir.”
The steward hands me my two beers. I give one to Jones and say: “Don’t thank me for stating the truth. You did great today Gunner Jones. I am truly fortunate to have you for a wingman.” I quickly knock my beer against hers and take a pull.
Being from Texas Jones shoots down half her beer in one pull. That done she replies: “Well I won’t argue with a man handin’ out free beer, so I reckon I’ll just have to agree with you.”
Captain Martin laughs and says: “That’s a pretty good strategy Gunner.”
I look around the bar and say: “Well I got plenty of other people to talk to, enjoy your evening Gunner, Martin.”
“You too, Sir,” they reply.
As I head away from the bar I see Lieutenant Vanske in an animated conversation with Lieutenant Reginald Baker, the platoon commander for 1std Platoon, Alpha Company. The way they are moving their hands I can tell they are talking about the fight we have just finished. Beer in hand I head over to where they are standing. When I arrive they stop talking and straighten up, eyeing me warily. I say: “Pavi, that was a hell of a thing you and your scouts did today. I’m proud of you.”
“I was just doing my job, Sir,” he replies.
“No you weren’t. You went above and beyond.” I reach out my hand for Vanske as I say this and he shakes it. I continue: “You saved Fitzpatrick’s life at great risk to your own. For that you have my admiration and my thanks.”
Lieutenant Baker chimes in: “He should get a medal for what he did, Sir.”
I smile inwardly but put on a severe face as I respond: “Thank you for that recommendation Lieutenant Baker. I will keep it under advisement.” In reality that is the reason I am late getting to the pub. I just finished writing up Vanske for the Silver Star. The fourth highest decoration for valor in the United Humanity Marine Corps. But, this is something a commander has to keep close hold.
Vanske comes to his buddy’s defense: “Sir, I keep telling Reggie that I didn’t do anything that great. He’s just happy I saved one of his Marine’s life.”
I wave my hand magnanimously and say: “Don’t worry about it Lieutenants. I know you all look out for each other. I will leave you two to whatever it was you were doing before I showed up.” I hold up my beer. “This beer isn’t going to drink itself.”
The two Lieutenants give me a courteous send off as I walk away. I head over to the usual table and see my friends sitting there waiting for me. I grab a seat. And listen in on a mildly heated debate.
“I know my degree is in applied physics, not theoretical, but I still do not understand how Watcher Physics is that different from M theory.” The XO and Gloria have probably ar
gued about this a thousand times. I wonder what got them started this time. The XO and Gloria are both physicists. The XO got her bachelor’s degree from St. Petersburg State Polytechnical University in applied Physics and has a master’s from Cambridge. Gloria had studied theoretical physics at the old U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis and the old U.S. Naval Postgraduate School (now the U.H. Naval Postgraduate School) in Monterey.
Gloria shoots back: “It has to do with the relationship between the fifth through eleventh dimensions and the true nature of strings in this application.”
Undeterred the XO returns: “Yes. So? The fact that the relationship is different has nothing to do with ….” I just give up at this point. I find theoretical physics about as fascinating as watching paint dry. I look over at Bennie and Mbiraru. Bennie’s eyes have glazed over completely. Mbiraru is smiling. Well more so than normal. Well that is impossible, just say that he is smiling with more bemusement than outright humor. He had studied aeronautical engineering in Nairobi, and had just recently completed master’s work in what I jokingly refer to as Rocket Science. So he can essentially keep within shouting distance of understanding their conversation. But as an engineer he finds the whole thing silly and pointless. Things work or they do not. Worrying about the relationship between the four common and seven higher dimensions is akin to worrying about why God has such a massive sense of humor.