by D. J. Holmes
“Send orders for Despicable and Ferret to rendezvous with us. Launch fighters,” Fisher said. “Fire our first mark IV missile salvo as soon as we enter maximum range.” Technically, she could have fired a couple of salvos of multistage missiles at much longer ranges. But they packed far less of a punch. Against a battlestation mark IV missiles were needed. At least, if she wanted to return to Earth and not get a dressing down from Andréa Clements. “Prepare to fire a second salvo but hold off on launching it. I doubt we will need it.”
Drake and the Indian battlestation fired their salvos at roughly the same time. The battlestation didn’t have modern missiles, but the larger battlestation missiles that it was armed with had had the longest range of any Human missiles before Scott had developed the multistage and then the mark IVs. Though Fisher had every confidence in her ship’s point defenses, she still tightened a hand into a fist. Staring at forty missiles racing towards you was never a relaxing experience. Much of the tension in her body disappeared just seconds after her ships opened fire with their point defense weapons. Flak cannon rounds destroyed six missiles. Then Drake’s arc emitters released two massive waves of electrostatic energy. They fried the seeker heads and engine control processors of eight more. With just six missiles left, plasma and laser cannon fire destroyed them easily. Not a single AM missile needed to be fired. Fisher nodded. “My compliments to the squadron’s gunners,” she said. She switched her attention to the Indian battlestation. Its point defenses were already trying to engage the ninety- six missiles her squadron had fired. With higher top speeds, better maneuverability, and significantly increased ECM, the battlestation’s gunners were struggling. According to the counter on Drake’s holo projector, only eight missiles had been destroyed so far. Seconds later the salvo reached attack range. Only ten more had been destroyed. The rest detonated. The missiles’ focusing lenses converted the energy from the thermonuclear warheads into three high-powered laser beams. Two hundred and thirty-four reached out to strike the battlestation. All but seven struck home. When the interference from the nuclear detonations subsided, Drake’s sensors detected nothing but an expanding ball of debris. “Recall the fighters,” Fisher ordered. Drake’s four Spitfires had been racing in after the missile salvo, ready to add their plasma missiles to the carnage, but they were no longer needed. Fisher turned to Maximus. “It’s over to you now General.” She glanced at her command chair’s chronometer. Just twenty minutes had passed since Drake had revealed herself. Culthrapori’s forces on New Delhi’s surface would have had some time to prepare, but twenty minutes was not long.
“Slot us into our arranged orbit,” Maximus requested as he took charge of the landing operation. Fisher nodded to him as her officers began to carry out his orders. Then she sat back in her command chair and rolled her shoulders to relax. For the rest of the mission, she was basically a spectator. It was time to see what the Imperial Marines could do.
*
Flight Lieutenant Amy Povich glanced her shuttle’s secondary readout for the seventh or eighth time. The readings from the shuttle’s two decoy missiles were still operating at optimal efficiency. Tilting her head left and right she confirmed that her two wingmen were with her as well.
“Begin mission Delta-one. Repeat, begin mission,” her flight controller on Drake announced over their COM channel.
“Acknowledged,” Povich replied. She quickly switched COM channels to her wingmen. “We’re up,” she said. “Deploy ordinance and begin descent on my mark… mark.” Flicking the switch that activated the first stage of the decoy missiles, Povich tilted the nose of her shuttle down and accelerated into New Delhi’s atmosphere. Within seconds she felt the resistance of New Delhi’s atmosphere through her flight stick. It quickly passed though. Moments later the alarms on her shuttle blared. Ground-based radar and other electromagnetic sensors were trying to track her. Of course, given the heat bloom her shuttle would have given off during its re-entry, they already had a good idea where to look. Just as she expected, atmospheric missiles appeared on her radar. They were coming from three separate sites around Calcutta. “Bank west, evasive maneuvers!” she ordered her wingmen.
As more than twenty missiles raced towards her three attack shuttles, Povich had no idea how many were actually targeting her command. With luck, none were, but there was no way to be sure. The decoy missiles under her shuttle’s wings were designed for exactly this kind of engagement. They weren’t missiles at all. There were just designed to look like them. Just before she had dropped into New Delhi’s atmosphere, they had deployed eight small drones each. The drones gave off heat blooms just like her shuttle as it entered New Delhi’s atmosphere. Then, after passing through the atmosphere and decelerating, the second stage of the drones kicked in. Each one gave off a faint electromagnetic signature, again designed to mimic her shuttle. With three shuttles under her command and each carrying two decoy missiles there were forty-eight drones arrayed around her shuttle. It gave her better than two to one odds that no missiles were actually targeting her craft. Those were odds Amy was comfortable with. She had trained to face them.
As the Indian missiles approached, she deployed her shuttle’s standard countermeasures and took evasive maneuvers. As she twisted and weaved she kept both eyes on one of her shuttle’s secondary displays. It was showing the sensor feed from the rear of her shuttle. When one missile appeared there and stayed with her, she cursed. Taking one hand off her flight stick she activated a second batch of countermeasures. She threw the shuttle into a twist so tight that her vision narrowed to the point where she could only see her flight stick. For several seconds she held the maneuver and then with a gasp she levelled off. When nothing struck her shuttle and no explosion erupted nearby, she let out a sigh of relief. “COMs check,” she requested.
“Decoy two here,” one of her pilots replied.
“Decoy three here too Lieutenant. That was fun, can we do it again?” her most junior pilot asked.
Povich shook her head. After the fright she had just experienced she wanted to give him a verbal bashing. But she knew it would only encourage him to come up with some cocky response. Instead she twisted her head to look back towards Calcutta. She was just able to make out six small dots accelerating towards the city. Like her craft, they were small sleek attack shuttles. Not quite Spitfires, but much closer to the fighters than standard shuttles. Having entered the atmosphere at a much slower velocity, they hadn’t given away their presence to the Indian ground defenses. On the other hand, the three surface-to-air missile sites had revealed their locations. Though she couldn’t see it, she could easily imagine the air to surface missiles racing away from the six shuttles. Her peripheral vision detected a handful of explosions in and around the outskirts of Calcutta. Then, on her main sensor display, she saw twelve normal shuttles enter New Delhi’s atmosphere. The real invasion force had arrived.
*
Major McGrath held onto his plasma rifle tightly as he was jostled about in his seat as the drop shuttle went through some turbulence. Though he had participated in many simulated ground assaults, this was only his second combat drop. Normally a man of action, he hated sitting still. Especially when the shuttle could come under attack at any moment. He knew the attack shuttles had taken out the three Indian SAM sites. Yet there was always a possibility Culthrapori had more, or even some additional ground defenses. According to the best intelligence on New Delhi’s defenses before the Karacknid war, there shouldn’t be any more than a handful of SAM sites. Even so, it was possible Culthrapori had managed to purchase additional weapons somewhere.
“Thirty seconds,” the shuttle’s pilot called over the COM channel, causing relief and tension to flow over McGrath. If the Indians hadn’t opened fire on the shuttles by now, it was unlikely they were going to; but that meant his part of the mission was about to begin. “Go, go, go,” the pilot called as the shuttle touched down on its assigned landing pad.
McGrath allowed Lieutenant Shelvey to lead the sh
uttle’s marines out before he followed. As he stepped down the access ramp, he was greeted with a bird’s eye view of Calcutta’s cityscape. The shuttle had landed on the roof of one of the city’s many apartment complexes. As Shelvey barked orders to his platoon, McGrath activated the main command and control section of his combat armor’s HUD. As the senior commander of the first wave, his role was one of coordination and strategy rather than getting into close quarters fighting with the enemy. Of course, if he got the chance for the latter he wouldn’t be complaining. “Secure the apartment and keep moving,” he ordered Shelvey. He switched the view on his HUD to check on the nine other shuttles under his command. He grunted in satisfaction when he saw that each had successfully landed on its building. Marines were swarming down the different apartment complexes and out onto Calcutta’s streets. The plan of attack had been designed to catch Culthrapori’s militia off guard. Instead of defending against an attack coming from outside the city, they were suddenly faced with five hundred marines within their defenses. After giving orders for the shuttles to take off and head back to Drake for the second wave, McGrath looked around the apartment complex’s roof. He was on his own. Breaking into a jog, he made his way to the nearest stairwell and descended. As he kept one eye in front of him, he monitored the progress of his ten platoons. Eight were moving out from within the city towards what Admiral Somerville’s intelligence had identified as the main militia barracks. The other two were being held back in reserve.
When McGrath got to the apartment’s ground floor and stepped out into the street, he saw Shelvey had his platoon in a defensive formation covering the block around the apartment complex. He gave the Lieutenant a nod of approval and stepped back into the apartment complex for cover. In relative safety, he devoted his full attention to his other platoons. When a firefight broke out between a squad of marines and two armored aircars, he accessed the visual images from one of the marines. In real time he watched the marines destroy one aircar with a hyper velocity missile. As the other dove to the street and militia poured out of it, the marines closed in and caught the militia in a crossfire. Six were killed before the rest threw down their weapons. “Secure any militia that surrender,” he ordered his Lieutenants and Captains over the regimental COM channel. “Leave a marine to guard them unless it is untenable.” Given the intelligence he had read, it was highly likely that if his marines tied up any surrendered militia and left them for later, there might not be anyone left to recover. Given the chance, it was entirely possible the locals would enact their own justice. One that would be dealt out a lot quicker than whatever might happen to the surrendered militia in the coming weeks and months.
McGrath coordinated the movement of his platoons as they moved in and surrounded the militia barracks and the outer defenses of the city. Rather than assault the barracks or the defenses from the rear, he ordered them to take up their own defensive positions. Securing the militia barracks was not his primary objective. All he needed to do was hem them in and cut off their access to the rest of the city. According to Somerville’s intelligence there were over two thousand militia based in the main barracks. Another thousand or so were spread out throughout the city, though the other bases were much further away from the governor’s residence. Or, as it was now, Culthrapori’s residence. “All right Lieutenants,” he said as he switched COM channels to speak to Shelvey and Hemsworth. “The other platoons have the barracks secure. It’s time for us to make our move.” McGrath contacted one of the Captains of the other platoons and passed responsibility for guarding the militia barracks to her. Hefting his plasma rifle, he moved out of the apartment complex and joined Shelvey’s platoon. With the second wave of marines less than ten minutes away, Shelvey and Hemsworth’s platoons were not needed as a reserve for defense of the barracks. It was time to head towards Culthrapori’s residence.
With their route predetermined, Shelvey and Hemsworth gave orders for their marines to proceed. Rather than take one of the large open streets, both platoons of marines jogged down two back alleys, one block apart. As they went, McGrath monitored the feed from the more than one hundred stealth drones that the marines had released. They were swarming ahead of the marine platoons, keeping a careful eye out for militia. It wasn’t long before they detected movement. “It looks like they’re setting up a roadblock. Three blocks out from the residence, six blocks ahead of us,” McGrath informed his two Lieutenants. “There’s two pockets of militia in front of the roadblock. We better neutralize them before we tackle the roadblock.” McGrath didn’t want any militia operating in his rear as they pushed forward.
On his HUD McGrath watched several squads split off from each platoon surround the two groups of militia. In two short sharp engagements, the militia were all dispatched or incapacitated. “They know we’re coming now,” McGrath said to Shelvey and Hemsworth. He used the eye tracker on his combat armor’s helmet to draw out a rough plan of attack and sent it to both Lieutenants. “Shelvey, we will occupy these two buildings and lay down covering fire. Hemsworth, once the militia are distracted, you’re to punch through their line at this point. Then turn west and sweep up their flank. Once you have them heavily engaged we will push through and join you.” After both Lieutenants acknowledged his orders, McGrath focused on his surroundings as he and the marines around him pushed forward.
Just a minute later they reached the two buildings he had identified. Both had commercial stores on the ground floor and offices or apartments above. Across a four-lane street the militia’s roadblock was visible. Keeping out of sight, McGrath followed the three squads of marines that Shelvey had assigned to one of the buildings. Moving up to the second floor he found a good vantage point and waited. Shelvey was the first to let him know his marines were in place. Then Hemsworth signaled to say she was ready to proceed. “Covering fire,” McGrath ordered over his COM channel with Shelvey’s marines. Matching actions to his words, he lent sideways and fired a single plasma bolt to shatter the window in front of him. He raked fire down into the militia across the street. He saw one go down before the rest dove for cover. As return fire blasted the area all around him, McGrath found himself diving down as well. They’re not too bad, he had to admit to himself. There were more of them than he had thought. He had clocked return fire coming from the second and third stories of the building across the street as well as from the roadblock itself. “Keep up the fire,” he ordered as he ducked out and released another stream of plasma bolts before ducking down again. “I want a hyper velocity missile on that roadblock,” he ordered. General Maximus had given strict orders about reducing collateral damage; there was no way he could order any heavier ordnance against the civilian buildings across the street, but the militia’s roadblock was fair game. Seconds later a massive explosion erupted, shattering the remaining windows. Forgot about that, McGrath thought as he poked his head out and continued shooting. It looked like the glass windows up to the fourth story of the building opposite him had been shattered. Any concerns about what Maximus or anyone else would say quickly evaporated as he focused his fire on anything that moved across the street. The explosion had sent all the militia under cover and his marines were taking advantage of that, keeping them pinned down. The militia’s fire had slackened considerably. “Time to make your move Hemsworth,” McGrath said as he switched COM channels.
Out of the corner of his eye, McGrath caught movement further down the street as the first squads in Hemsworth’s platoon charged across the open ground. In their combat armor, they could move almost three times the speed of a normal man. In little more than the blink of an eye they were swarming over a part of the militia’s roadblock that hadn’t been engaged yet. The militia there, either due to being distracted or having some of their number pulled away, were quickly overrun. Then Hemsworth’s marines assaulted the building to the east of the roadblock. “Keep up the covering fire,” McGrath ordered. He didn’t want the militia to have time to react to the new threat.
Just as he was
about to lean right and open fire again, something made McGrath freeze. It took a couple seconds to figure out what it was. All around him was the sound of an intense firefight but even amidst all the noise, several shots sounded wrong. By the fifth one McGrath figured it out, they were coming from the wrong direction. Behind us! McGrath realized. He switched COM channels to Shelvey’s platoon. Several voices were shouting at once. The marines on the floor below him were under attack. Leaving Shelvey to organize his marines, McGrath turned and sprinted through the building to its opposite side. Raising his rifle he glanced out one of the windows down to the street below. Before he could fire off a shot, several militia who had their weapons targeted on his building opened fire. McGrath swore and ducked back out of sight. “There’s at least ten of them still outside making their way in,” he shouted over Shelvey’s COM channel. He reached for his utility belt, pulled off a couple of grenades and flung them out the now destroyed window. As soon as they detonated, he popped back up and fired into the militia that hadn’t made it into the building yet. He cut down two before those that were left regained their wits and returned fire.
Just as McGrath began to take cover, he saw movement behind the militia. He almost snapped off a shot at the new arrivals, but he pulled his finger off the trigger just in time. The newcomers weren’t in military fatigues. Nor were they firing at him. Instead they were firing into the backs of the militia. Back behind cover, McGrath waited for several seconds. As soon as the fire on his position died down, he jumped back up. When he brought his rifle to bear on where the militia had been, he didn’t find any targets. They were all on the ground. The newcomers were moving over them and towards the entrance to the building. For a second McGrath didn’t believe his eyes. The civilians were moving with a speed and poise that defied logic. Only when he glanced further back and recognized that one of the other Humans that was moving more slowly did he understand. Admiral Somerville had come to join the fight! The civilians moving at such speeds had to be the special forces marines with him. Which included General Johnston! McGrath realized.