by Jay Allan
The Lines of Medillina
Northern Continent
Planet Persis – Iota Persi II
Day Four
“Colonel Samuels, 2nd Battalion has broken through in two places. Major Zander is requesting reserves to push through the valley.” Lieutenant Grasso’s voice was higher pitched than normal. The young officer couldn’t hide his excitement. The entire Hammer-Anvil operation was a high-risk proposition, and everyone involved had been on edge for days. Grasso had been edgy when the Anvil force marched out, but now it was obvious the battle was going well, much better than expected. At least it was for the Anvil units; it was still too early to judge the success of the Hammer force. The fight wasn’t over, not by a long shot. But the news was all good so far.
The fighting had been heavy for a while, but it was becoming apparent the enemy forces didn’t have the strength to counter the heavy assault units under Samuels’ command. Their reserves appeared well below projected levels, and most of their strength consisted of second line units. The Marines had expected to run into Janissaries by now, but there hadn’t been a sign of the elite enemy infantry…at least not yet. If things were as successful with Force Hammer, Grasso thought, the operation might end way ahead of plan. The two forces were scheduled to link up on day 15, but the Anvil units were running well in advance of that timetable.
“By all means, lieutenant, let us further our advantage.” Rafael Samuels towered over Grasso by a good 15 centimeters, his bulk so enormous it almost filled the lieutenant’s field of vision. Samuels was a giant of a man, a huge mass of solid muscle who towered over most of those around him. There were rumors the armorers had to construct a custom fighting suit for him because none of the standard sizes could be adjusted enough. No one seemed to know if that was true or just another one of those shadowy legends in the Corps, but it just took one look at Samuels to realize it was a possibility. He’d been called “the bull” as an enlisted man and a young officer, but his pride had grown with his rank, and he eventually cracked down hard on what he’d come to consider a disrespectful practice. He managed to fairly effectively banish the use of the old nickname, at least in his presence…and, in the process, create a whole series of new ones muttered behind his back in private conversations, far more disrespectful ones. The Marines honored Samuels’ rank – discipline, after all, ran through the very heart of the Corps. But they didn’t really respect the man. He was too arrogant; there were too many stories of him disregarding the well-being of the forces under his command. The Marines assigned to him would obey his commands, but he would never draw the kind of unquestioning loyalty a Viper Worthington could. He was too petty, too greedy and self-centered.
“Order 6th Battalion forward and through the breaches.” There was smug satisfaction in his deep voice. Samuels was extremely ambitious, and a notable success with Force Anvil would probably earn him his stars. Finally…they should have been mine already, he thought bitterly, but it’s hard to get noticed with the great Viper Worthington stealing the spotlight.
“Yes sir.” Grasso snapped back a sharp response and turned to execute the order personally.
Samuels stood and looked out in the direction of the fighting. The front line was about 3 klicks to the north. The enemy had been dug in on a nasty-looking ridge. It was a strong defensive position, and Samuels had expected to have a much harder time pushing through. If the enemy had their front line troops there, it would have been a bloodbath assaulting up that hillside. But there had only been a smattering of veteran regulars among the defenders…and no Janissaries at all.
He walked a few meters, glancing down at the large ‘pad set up in the middle of the HQ quad. It displayed a map of the area. His forces were marked by small blue icons, the enemy by red. The positions were updating, and all along the ridgeline, red marks were being replaced by blue ones.
They’re giving up the ridge without a real fight, he thought. It didn’t make a lot of sense…this was the best defensive position between his forces and Hammer. He’d expected the enemy to make a major stand, but they’d mounted a weak effort and then quickly bailed. Why?
Samuels wasn’t half the tactician he thought he was, but he wasn’t a fool either. Something was wrong, or at least not going as expected. Could the intel be incomplete, he wondered…was it possible the enemy was weaker on Persis than the scouting reports indicated? Or was there another answer? Had the invincible Viper Worthington missed something?
He reached down and touched the ‘pad gently, sliding his gloved finger across, zooming in on a section of the map. Where, he thought…where could they be hiding the Janissaries? Samuels wasn’t timid, but he had no intention of running into a shitstorm of enemy elite troops where he didn’t expect it. He intended to come out of this operation as a hero and a general…he had no intention of letting Worthington steal all the credit again. And even less of ending up the goat when the great general’s plans went to hell.
He hit his com button, reopening the line to his aide. “Grasso, I want scouting parties pushed out from the main line. Platoon-sized.” He was thinking as he spoke. “I want them five klicks out. The main force is to hold position until the scouts are at the designated distance.” Five kilometers was pretty far out for an unsupported reconnaissance…but Samuels didn’t really care if a platoon got caught out too far and wiped out, as long as he got the intel he needed. He damned sure wasn’t going to take any chances with his main force. He wasn’t going to end up facing the music if Worthington’s intel was for shit.
“Yes, colonel.” Grasso’s voice was tentative. Clearly, he was thinking 5 klicks was far out too, but he was more concerned about the Marines who’d be sticking their necks out.
“Now, lieutenant.” Samuel’s tone was sharp, demanding. “Now.”
Chapter 6
Hammer Force HQ
Painted Hills
Northern Continent
Planet Persis – Iota Persi II
Day Four
“Still no contact with Recon Beta, sir.” Lieutenant Masur had been at the com board for two hours, but he hadn’t been able to penetrate the interference and reach the lost patrol. “Whoever’s jamming them is putting out a hell of a lot of wattage.”
Shit, Holm thought bitterly. He didn’t like any of this. If they were jamming, they were doing it for a reason. And that reason was a hell of a lot more than just picking off a patrol. Was it a trap? Or were they planning to hit the Anvil Force hard and this was just an attempt to distract him? It could be anything, but one thing he was sure of…it was something. They weren’t wasting a whole fusion plant’s worth of power generation just to inconvenience his people or to take out ten of his Marines.
One thing was certain. They’d stopped his forces cold. He couldn’t lead his troops through that valley, not without knowing what was waiting for them there. The approach might be heavily fortified, and the risk of moving forward blind was just too high. But every hour they stayed put, the timetable fell further behind. His forces couldn’t move forward, but they couldn’t stand where they were either. The enemy had hit them hard late on day one, and again throughout day two, but they’d been quiet ever since. Still, it was only a matter of time until the next attack came…and his people were still vulnerable, deep in enemy territory and surrounded by enemies.
Holm’s mind raced, trying to consider every fact at his disposal. He’d had an aching pit in his stomach for days now, ever since he’d gotten the word that Captain Jones had been hit and the attack force was his to command. His…the meaning of that had quickly become apparent. He was responsible for the success of the op, for the lives of 700 Marines, every one of them looking to him to get them home. One of the most crucial ops of the war was under his command, and he was cut off…from the fleet, from HQ. He was totally on his own. I’m not ready for this, he thought when he’d first been told…but he realized it didn’t matter. Ready or not, the obligation was his. He was scared to death, but Elias Holm didn’t shrink from h
is duty, not while there was still breath in his body. If these Marines could look to him for leadership, he owed them nothing less than every shred of strength and wits he had to give them.
They needed his caution too, he thought…his careful analysis. It was much easier to wave the sword and charge forward gloriously into the fight, far tougher to exercise care, to truly think about each step. The mission was a difficult one to start, fraught with risk. But the enemy wasn’t behaving the way he expected…or the way the mission planning had projected. And that scared the hell out of him.
There was an explosion in the distance, followed by two more. They could hear the muffled sounds of combat from the patrol’s position but, with their scanners and com blocked in that direction, they had no idea what was going on up there.
Holm turned toward Masur. “I want another patrol pushed out there.” He’d been hesitating. He didn’t like sending more of this Marines into the unknown, but he realized he didn’t have any choice. Staying put wasn’t an option. Plunging forward blind with the whole battalion wasn’t either. “Send a whole section…and I want them to leave a chain of pickets every 500 meters. They are to report at once when they lose contact with the lead sentry.” At least, that way we’ll be able to keep track of the patrol.
“Yes, sir.” Masur snapped his response as he leaned over to work his com, relaying the order.
“And I want another flight of drones sent out.” The last two had been shot down by enemy fire before they’d gotten a good look at things in the target zone. There was definitely heavy resistance there - that much was certain - but he needed a lot more intel, and he needed it fast. “Send them 1 klick north and south of the prior flight. Let’s see if we can sneak around their main defenses and get a look in from the sides.”
“Yes, captain.” Masur turned then snapped his head back toward Holm. “Sir!” His voice was shrill, excited. “I’m getting a report, captain. We’ve got one of the privates from Recon Beta, sir. He’s on the com. Says he’s a little over one klick from here. His signal’s weak, but we’re definitely getting it.”
Holm’s head whipped around. “I want an escort sent down there to get him.” He leapt up to his feet. “Immediately.”
“Relax, private. I know you’ve been through an ordeal.” Holm was speaking through the com, but then he popped his visor. “Open your helmet, son. Let’s talk face to face.” The kid was almost hysterical, and Holm wanted to try to calm him down.
Private Burke stood in front of Holm. “Yes sir,” he replied nervously. A few seconds went by and then there was a soft cracking sound. The opaque visor slipped up and over the helmet, revealing the private’s pale, wide-eyed faced. Burke didn’t say anything else. He just tried to keep his eyes focused on Holm’s.
“I know you’ve been through a lot, private…Danny.” My God, Holm thought, how old is this kid? He tried to keep his voice steady, reassuring. He’d always had a gift for comforting less experienced Marines, especially in times of distress. It was a combination of factors – patience, calm, quiet courage. General Worthington could rally a force of Marines, and get them excited to charge into hell itself. Holm’s command style was only starting to develop, but it was clearly different. He had an empathy, a connection with the troops he led…a calmness he could impart to Marines facing the worst kind of danger. Even now, when he was under enormous strain himself, his mind stayed focused, steady…his tone calm, soothing. “You’ve done your duty well, private. Now I just need you to stay calm, and tell me what is going on up there.”
“Yes sir.” Burke was trying to control his nerves, but his voice was still shaky.
“OK, son, give me a status report. Take your time…just tell me everything.” Holm looked into the young private’s wild eyes, feeling old by comparison. Though he can’t be more than five or six years younger than me, he thought, even if he got to camp at 15. Holm had spent those extra years on the front lines, however, surrounded by blood and fire and death. He hadn’t become what he was overnight, certainly…but had he ever been so green, such a raw cherry thrown into the firestorm of war?
“Yes sir.” Burke was struggling, slowly getting a grip on himself. “We were pushing forward…” – he gestured toward the ‘pad, pointing to an area on the tactical map – “…here. We’d just moved out into the desert…the yellow sand…”
Holm was staring at the ‘pad as he listened. “Continue, private.” His voice was soft, encouraging.
“Yes sir.” Burke cleared his throat. He was still nervous, but he was getting steadier, more sure of himself. He reached out and pointed at a spot on the map. “Here, sir.” His eyes bored into the ‘pad. “This is where we were attacked.”
“Lieutenant Masur.” Holm barked out the command. “I want a patrol to head to this location.” He pointed to the spot Burke had identified. “Coordinates 089-7416.” He glanced back at the ‘pad for another second. “Send a full platoon.” A pause, just a second or two. “And position another in support.” He wasn’t about to send his people in there to get picked apart piecemeal.
“Yes, captain.” A few seconds later: “Sergeant Farner acknowledges, sir.” A short pause. “They should be there in a few minutes, sir.”
“Very well.” Holm started to turn back toward Burke, but he paused and stared at Masur again. “Farner is to exercise extreme caution, lieutenant. Is that understood? I want information, not dead scouts.” Mack Farner was a blood and guts type, and Holm knew that well. But right now he wanted careful Marines…not dead ones.
“Yes sir. I will instruct the sergeant to exert all possible caution.”
“Very well, lieutenant.” Holm moved his head back toward Burke. “Continue, private.”
“Yes sir.” Burke’s voice was firmer, more focused. There was help on the way to his comrades, and he felt a wave of relief. He pointed to the map again. “That’s where we ran into the jamming. At first, it was heavy, but we could still get some readings….but then it blanketed out everything. No com, no scanners, no sat relays. Nothing.”
Holm nodded slowly. “Go on, private.”
“Then the fire started. It came out of nowhere…from directly ahead. From the flanks too.” Burke’s voice was getting shakier as he recounted the firefight. “We had people down right away, but that’s when the jamming really amped up, and the sergeant couldn’t even get readings from the medical transponders.”
“How were you able to communicate with Sergeant Rancik?” Holm’s voice was even, steady…a lifeline for Burke to grab onto while he recounted the battle that had savaged his squad.
“I was right behind him, sir. A meter, maybe two.” Burke was struggling to maintain Holm’s gaze as he spoke. “He got hit, captain.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “He was hit twice, sir.” He just stopped and looked back at Holm, his eyes wide and glistening.
“Then what happened?” Holm gave the young Marine a few seconds. “Was Sergeant Rancik killed, private?”
“No sir.” Burke’s eyes flashed back to Holm’s. “He was hurt bad, though. I was trying to check his med scanners, but he popped his visor and started yelling and waving for me to do the same.” Burke cleared his throat and paused.
“What did he say, private?”
“He told me to get back to HQ and report.” Burke’s voice was quivering. “He told me to leave them there, sir…and to run.” Burke was getting upset again; the memory of leaving his squadmates behind was tearing him apart.
“You did the right thing, private….Danny.” Holm nodded slowly. He was beginning to like Danny Burke. The young private was raw, but the kid’s heart was strong. He must have been terrified, but his biggest concern was leaving his squad behind. “It’s the hardest thing we have to do, son…leave friends in trouble. But the mission is always first. There’s more than one Marine on the line, more than a squad. You need to remember that. Always. Sergeant Rancik was right sending you here to report. He did his duty. And so did you.”
Burke looked back at Ho
lm, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. “Thank you, sir.” He paused then added, “I had to do what the sergeant said, sir. I didn’t want to leave…”
“Captain, we have a report back from Sergeant Farner’s patrol.” It was Masur, speaking on Holm’s com even though he was standing only five meters away.
Holm waved off Burke and turned away from the private. “Go ahead, lieutenant,” he said, keeping his back turned so Burke wouldn’t hear Masur through the open visor. Holm listened impassively as the lieutenant relayed the update. “Very well, lieutenant. Advise Sergeant Farner to find a strong position and dig in. Lieutenant Clinton is to advance and support Farner’s people.”
“Yes sir.” Masur nodded and turned to trot to the com tent.
“Sir?” It was Burke. “I need to get back, sir.” The private’s eyes wandered, darting from Holm to the rear…roughly the way back toward his squad. “They’re pinned down, captain…in big trouble. They need every gun. I have to get back and help them. I can’t leave them.”
Holm sighed gently. “I’m sorry, son.” He reached out and put his arm on Burke’s shoulder, a gesture more symbolic than anything else while wearing armor. He paused, looking sadly into the young Marine’s eyes. “I’m afraid your squadmates are all dead.”
Chapter 7
AS Courier Vessel
Near Battlestation “Henry”
Orbiting Iota Persi V
Day Six
“The terms are agreed, Lord Hassan. I have just received word from Alliance Gov.” Dutton’s face wore a broad smile, a change from his usual unreadable expression.
“All of the terms, Mr. Dutton?” Hassan was looking right into his counterpart’s eyes. “As set forth in our proposal?”