by Mark Wandrey
She didn’t have enough launchers at her disposal. The Zuparti installation did have a small manufactory, and a good store of parts. It just couldn’t get enough missiles on target fast enough to beat back the anti-missile fire. Unless you get creative, she thought with a growing grin. She reviewed the missile design, confirming what they could and couldn’t do, and nodded as a plan came together.
“Why have more than 300 missiles in inventory if you never use them?” She programmed in a launch sequence, writing a script to control the simple weapons. When she was done, she checked her personal chronometer. It was only a few minutes wait until it was the correct time to begin the attack. She pushed the green FIRE button. The Zuparti would be disappointed. There was no sensation from her station of the missiles roaring away. The base was too large, and the launchers were hundreds of meters away.
Four at a time, the missiles jetted into the sky. Only not on their rockets, they were launched via compressed air cannons. On a planet like Earth, the rockets would quickly have plunged back to the ground. On E’cop’k, due to the pathetic gravity, the jettison charge gave them enough Delta-V to create a parabolic trajectory nearly 30 kilometers long.
By the time the first four were rushing toward the ground with seconds to impact, she had 188 missiles in the air. “That’s more like it,” she said as she hit the programmed flight command, which sent orders to all 188 missiles, which fired their motors and roared toward the enemy base. “Little present for you, bloody cats,” she said and reclined in the less-than-comfortable chair. It was only then that she remembered the enemy base was defended by Pushtal and Zuul. Grimly she sat up straight and watched the weapons’ trajectories.
* * *
Alan’s command suit radar buzzed a warning.
[Multiple Air Threats]
He checked the heads up display and quickly confirmed it was the missile launch from their base. Good job, young lady, he thought. Then the few contacts grew, and grew, and grew to over 150! The computer in his CASPer wasn’t designed to track this many airborne targets. It was only meant to warn him of possible aerial threats. It only said “more than 150” targets.
“How the hell did Ripley manage that?” he wondered on the command circuit.
“Never underestimate that sneaky doggo,” Sergeant Bana said. Alan could almost see him shaking his head inside his CASPer. High above him, hundreds of silver darts lanced across the sky.
His radio crackled with a distant broadcast. “This is Big Strong Fist, we fight on both flanks.”
“Who have you engaged? What race?” Alan asked.
“Pushtal. We fight Pushtal.”
“Acknowledged, preparing to attack.” Alan cut the channel.
“If the Pushtal are on the flanks, Zuul are in the middle. Do we tell them?” Jill asked from a hundred meters to his left, commanding Company B.
“Would it change the situation?”
“Probably not,” she replied.
“Agreed. All units, advance!” Just over the horizon, lasers crisscrossed the sky and tiny explosions bloomed. Ripley’s barrage had arrived. A second later, Silent Night raced ahead at a run.
* * *
Drake tore his eyes from the sky, knowing that despite all the practice, he still needed to keep focus on his pace. Formation was an entirely different beast, and actual combat…
He hadn’t really bonded with any of the Paku Zuul. Why would he have? He had enough to deal with from his siblings, and more than enough ties to stupid Humans, the last thing he needed was to care about an assload of strangers because they—what? They were shaped like him?
Keeping perfect pace with the CASPers around him, he snorted and focused his attention forward.
Where the missiles were aimed, a cluster of reeking, angry, ferocious Pushtal waited.
Along with who knew how many of his own kind.
Isgono wouldn’t be there, though, the crazy old teacher wouldn’t have been prioritized with the fighters who’d left the Paku. Or wouldn’t have been thrown out into space in the middle of a battle when there was some dubious safety to be found on board. He was sure one of those things must be true, though entropy knew Isgono had never told them anything helpful, like how an evacuation was handled.
Like what to do when you had orders to kill the very people who’d been helping you.
Which had to be better than betraying the people who’d raised you. Your family. Family was more important than species? Wasn’t it?
Unhelpful. This was combat, not training, and he had a CASPer that was his, and no one was going to drop into his wave. He watched the missiles streak ahead, knew the impact would come moments before they broke into enemy lines.
Besides, there were a couple of Silent Night’s mercs that could drop out, and he wouldn’t spare a blink of mourning. Long as they did their job first—
No. He checked the thought, sent a silent thanks to Ripley for giving great air coverage, and considered the damage the Lumar would be doing from either side.
Those mercs weren’t clever, but Drake knew all about being underestimated when you were big and mostly monosyllabic. No doubting those lads were worth more than their weight in a fight—point them in a direction, and expect that direction clear.
A throbbing stabbed from his jaw down his neck, and he realized belatedly he’d been clenching the whole run.
Breathe. Breathe, move, and aim.
Everything on the other side was only a target.
He couldn’t afford for them to be anything else.
* * *
A kilometer before their objective was a low line of hills. Alan guessed they were there on purpose, that the enemy had chosen this terrain to give them some cover against long range laser engagement. Whatever the reason, they needed to get over them, and as soon as they did, they’d be in sight of their objective.
“Careful on your jumps,” he cautioned his mercs. “Don’t want to make yourselves easy targets.” He added the last for his kids’ sakes, because his stomach felt like it was full of jack jumpers. Bloody hell, he was scared for them. He still remembered his first fight in a CASPer, some 30 years ago. He’d fought for several minutes before his platoon sergeant had reminded Alan to release his safeties before his weapons would fire.
As was his tradition and prerogative, Alan was at the front of the left formation. His first platoon was all around him as they broached the hill, riding their jumpjets. He could see on his tactical Tri-V—a feature of the slightly bigger cockpit on his command model Mk 7—the elevations of all the mercs. They came over the rise within seven meters’ altitude of each other. He’d never felt prouder of his lads.
“Objective in sight,” the scouts called.
“Game on,” Bana growled.
Alan liked the man, a lot. Probably the best sergeant he’d ever served with. He hadn’t held it against the man for reminding him to take his safeties off all those years ago.
“All units, prepare to engage,” he ordered.
Alan took his eyes off his mercs and began scanning the enemy base. The Cartography Guild had spared no expense. The mobile firebase was, for lack of a better term, impressive. However, it was more armor than firepower. Regardless, he had to breach those defenses in order to get his people home.
The timing was perfect. Ripley’s wave of missiles were screaming in on target just as he was examining their objective. The firebase’s array of anti-missile lasers flashed in the morning sky, turning missile after missile into blooming balls of fire. He briefly considered ordering Rex to see if he could take the laser out. His son had one of only four heavy MACs in their unit. The range was still five kilometers, outside the ideal envelope for the weapons.
Craaack! The MAC on Rex’s CASPer spoke even as Alan was considering.
“Save the rounds, lad,” Bana said immediately. “It’s too bloody far.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Rex replied. The tone in Rex’s voice made Alan smile. The kids were too excited to be scared.
“Can’t wait to use his dardy new MAC,” Sonya said with a laugh.
“Piss off,” Rex replied, laughing. Others chuckled as well.
“Cut the chatter,” Alan said softly, and the laughter stopped. His radar had just picked up the telltale heat plumes from small fusion power plants. Vehicles were leaving the sally ports on the enemy firebase. A second later, several of their missiles made it through the enemy fire and blossomed into flame on the side of the base. This time Alan didn’t stop the cheers of his men as they bounded down the hill.
“There are at least two dozers,” Bana said on their private channel.
“I saw the fusion heat plumes,” Alan replied. Tanks. The Zuul were known for some badass tanks. Naturally, the Zuparti hadn’t listed that in their reports of possible armament. “Captain Anderle, I didn’t see any tanks in your report.”
“No, sir, this is the first we’ve seen of them. Of course, we’ve never managed to get this close.”
Alan’s sensors zoomed in on the monster. His CASPer’s computer automatically took a radar cross section and ran a comparison.
[JF-9 Fusion Powered Heavy Tank—Main Gun: Particle Accelerator—Zuul Design]
“Well,” Alan said with a sigh, “isn’t this just ripper?”
* * *
Veska had been on enough missions in her career to be considered experienced, even by someone as venerated as the captain. It had been ages since every meal she’d ever eaten had decided to send their ghosts climbing up her throat.
This battle, though…ancient meat and bile mixed with the pooling saliva in her mouth, and she pointed her nose at the sky to fight back the urge to pant.
Combat had always been the path meant for her; she hadn’t doubted it even when she’d nearly lost her left leg to a Flatar’s lucky shot, nor when she’d lost half a squad to a MinSha ambush on an allegedly abandoned moon. Life and death were all of a cycle, one walked the path for the cycle they were given, and this was hers.
But for the first time, it writhed between her nerves, setting her muscles to jumping, her ears flattening against every noise. The incoming air attack she could dismiss, she had run through such before.
What waited on the other side of it…
She held the breather close to her face and climbed to the lookout on the wall along with her squad mates. They’d receive the order soon enough to jump down in this inadequate gravity and engage. At least the biting cold of this dwarf planet would take her mind off the building heat in her close-fit suit, though she’d forget all about temperatures once the shooting started.
Something large ground open below them, and she craned her neck to see. Though she couldn’t smell anything over the breather’s dutiful flood of proper air, her mind supplied the scents of metal and grease that must be there. The smallest of whines pulled itself from her chest, and she cleared her throat to hide it.
“Are those—”
“The tanks! Yes!” Arvek, an old friend, had been on this contract from the beginning. His enthusiasm should have pulled her tail side to side, but instead she dropped her head and looked away.
“I didn’t know we were using them—they weren’t in the captain’s plans.”
“They’ve only just been repaired—the mechanics were able to strip connections from the Gheshu, now that we know the Paku is here to replace the worst of it. They want the fight done, and this will make progress on that!” A small yip of excitement emphasized his words, and Veska swallowed back the mess collecting in her mouth.
“We should have discussed this—the captain—”
“I believe the Rei’Shin was in all the meetings,” Arvek interrupted, bounding up to get a better view. He settled next to her and dropped his jaw in a grin. “When in doubt, go to overwhelming force.”
Veska gestured above at the streaks of the lasers working overtime to empty a sky full of missiles. “The Humans and Lumar have had the same thought, it seems.”
“They are worthy enough to meet in battle.” Arvek snapped his jaw, then grunted. “Wish I could be in a tank. Bombers get all the fun.”
“Not all,” she murmured, though her heart staggered against the words. Her rifle pulled against her arms, though she’d carried it blissfully countless times before. She secured it to her side and leaned forward against the wall, focusing her long sight on the horizon.
Glints on the horizon slowly resolved into the suggestions of over-sized Human shapes. The Humans had pulled together a full complement of their armored suits, which allowed them longer strides and stronger ammunition. It would make it a more than fair fight against the Zuul, and certainly against the Pushtal.
“First rank, long shots!” their commander bellowed, and a line of Zuul above them slammed a response. In perfect alignment, a barrage of large caliber shots thrummed through the building. There was little chance of fully disabling hits at this distance, but any damage done out there would help them in their attack.
She couldn’t fault the other mercenaries’ bloodlust; it was their discipline she was worried about. There was little room for error in combat, and against the powered suits and guns the Humans had, there was even less.
She worried over the likelihood of the Pushtal following the plan for a handful of seconds, but even that couldn’t distract her eyes, still scanning, which had picked out irregularities in the approaching formation of battle suits. On the right, if she wasn’t mistaken—and the immediate flood of adrenaline said she was not—the glints resolved into four suits. They were slightly larger than the rest, differently proportioned, their different gait…Zuul-like.
“Kobo Ask’sha, Rex,” she whispered, then threw back her head into a full-throated howl.
All around her, her compatriots joined their voices to hers. They were too full of battle-readiness to hear the sorrow threading her call, their urge for victory outweighing the weight of her mourning to come. The alarm sounded bare instants before the first missile hit the building, and concussive force launched her over the side. She corrected her fall and landed smoothly on her feet.
“Let’s go!” she yelled, and advanced into the growing haze of battle.
* * * * *
Chapter 12
The Fields of Battle—E’cop’k
“Watch the left!” Rex yelled and sideslipped. A particle bolt crackled through the air where he’d been only an instant before, vaporizing a huge rock and exploding the ground around it. He brought his MAC in line and triggered a blast. Craaack! The tungsten penetrator, accelerated by a rare-earth sabot, left the gun barrel at multiples of the speed of sound, issuing a meter-long flame as a tiny amount of the barrel was turned to plasma from the speed of passage. The sabot released the penetrator, which travelled between the gun and the tank in a fraction of a second, hitting with the force of a bomb. It splashed on the tank’s shields with a flash of brilliant white and blue light, static crackling in all directions.
“We can’t crack its shields,” Drake yelled, firing pulse after pulse from his heavy laser.
“Someone try to get some K-bombs under it!” Bana barked from cover. “It’ll roll right over them and they’ll explode under it, inside its shield.”
“Yeah, we just have to stand here while it rolls through us,” Sonya said.
The tanks had been steadily pushing them back. Every time they tried to flank, Zuul mercs on foot had been there to repulse the attack. Their father, Colonel Porter, was a few hundred meters back at the base of the hill, trying to reach Ripley in the hopes of another missile barrage. The tank’s shields could be overwhelmed with enough firepower, just not the kind the CASPers were carrying on this mission.
“What we need is one of the Raknar,” Shadow said from his own position.
Rex watched his brother pop up and fire a line of shells from the arm-mounted chain gun, pushing back the Zuul who’d been trying to move in under cover of their tank. Then Shadow had to scuttle back, moving positions. The tank fired its enormously powerful weapon again, annihilating
the covering boulder Shadow had used. They had four damaged CASPers so far. It was a miracle none of them were out or dead. But the attack had come to a jarring stop.
“What about the Lumar?” Drake asked.
“The Pushtal have them tied down, too,” Corporal Plesh said. “It’s turned into a right great cockup.”
“Terrence and Peck are down,” Captain Anderle called on the open channel. “Second tank is moving laterally, look out!”
Rex shifted his view and saw it, only a couple dozen meters away and moving fast. The broken field of boulders made for difficult maneuvering for the massive six-treaded tanks. But they were nimble, with multiple turrets holding not only the particle accelerator cannon, its main weapon, but two smaller ballistic cannons, and several lasers. The behemoth was heading right toward where Shadow and Sonya were hunkered down. They didn’t see it coming.
“Shadow, Sonya, move!” Rex yelled and fired his jump jets. As he soared up, he fired his MAC as fast as it would cycle at the oncoming tank. Wham, Wham, Wham, the hyper-accelerated penetrators slammed into the tank’s shield. Each time they hit, the splash on the shield got brighter and brighter.
“I’m getting through!” he yelled. There was a small spot in the shield, a shimmer where he thought it was weakest. He cut his jumpjets and lined up a shot. Wham, with a crimson splash of light and electricity, the MAC round went through the shield and hit the tank’s main turret, shattering the relatively delicate main weapon.
The mercs cheered as Rex fired his jumpjets to slow his descent. The particle beam from the other tank would have taken him in the chest if he hadn’t fired the jets at that moment. Instead the beam just missed, but the static discharge played across his CASPer, overloading half the jumpjets.