Marines (Crimson Worlds) Read online

  I'd read an account of a sailor from the old wet navy who said that recruits got used to the waves and that their seasickness passed in a couple weeks. Well, I can tell you that it takes longer than two weeks in space, but the principal still holds. By the time we made our third jump and entered the Van Maanen's Star system, most of us had adapted to normal space travel. We'd get another chance to acclimate to the wild maneuvers preceding an orbital insertion, but that pleasure was still a few months away.

  The next two years were filled with training similar to what we'd had already, but in increasing difficult and dangerous circumstances. We practiced on Van Maanan's 2, but we also did maneuvers on the sun-baked first planet and on a moon of the seventh planet where the temperature hovered a balmy 40 degrees above absolute zero.

  We let loose with all of our weapons, and in year six we trained with the "specials." Unleashing nuclear warheads was dangerous business, and you certainly didn't want to undershoot with one.

  We didn't have any washouts after we left Earth - they'd weeded out all the losers long before. But we did have casualties. Those last two years cost us 102 dead, and my class ultimately graduated 382 out of 1,011 who started.

  We got a trip back to Earth for graduation. When we got there they gave us two weeks of leave and transport anywhere in the Alliance. I didn't have anyone to visit or any real desire to see New York again, so I just went to New Houston. That's what most of the class did. The marines seemed to seek recruits with no real ties or family.

  Graduation was held on the parade ground at Camp Puller. General Strummer had been true to his word. We not only saw lots of blue full dress uniforms - we got our own. Strummer wasn't there, though. There had been a lot of skirmishes along the frontier, and the general had been transferred to a sector command.

  There was a lot of satisfaction in having finished six years of hard training. My life before joining up felt like some bizarre dream, and I could hardly form clear memories of that time. This was my life now.

  My class had been together for a long time, and I think we would have liked to serve with some familiar faces, but new recruits were generally assigned in small numbers to existing commands. We got parceled out to units all over Alliance space, and I was the only one sent to my new company.

  A week after graduation I boarded a transport, and two months later I got bolted into a lander and blasted out into the upper atmosphere of Carson's World. It was the beginning of a long journey.

  Chapter Four

  Tau Ceti III

  During Operation Achilles

  “Cain, pull your troops back to the refinery. Fast. The whole company’s falling back.” Sergeant Barrick’s voice. Great. That meant that all the officers were down.

  I snapped out a series of orders to my acting fire team leaders, telling them to retreat in hundred yard intervals, one team covering the other while they fell back. Between the smoke and the confusion I couldn’t be certain, but my best guess was the company had already lost about half its strength.

  We were in the middle of Operation Achilles, the invasion of Tau Ceti III. That may have been its official name, but to us it was a fucked up mess, colloquially known as the Slaughter Pen.

  It was my seventh mission since the Carson’s World assault and I’d made the last three as assistant squad leader. A few days earlier an enemy frag grenade had made me acting squad leader. Sergeant Thompson wasn’t dead, but with both legs blown off he wouldn’t be leading the squad anymore either.

  By this time the undeclared war we’d been fighting for fifteen months had become official. The Third Frontier War had begun in earnest, and we’d been pretty roughly handled so far. We’d lost two major land battles and a half-dozen mining colonies, and the navy had suffered a pretty serious defeat at the Algol warp gate. With the fleet on the run there were several dozen colonies cut off without support or resupply.

  The war had been tough on my squad too. Wilson killed in the raid on Altair V. Kleiner dead on some miserable asteroid in the 61 Cygnus system – she was only hit in the leg, but decompression and cold killed her before we could do anything. Gessler, Andrews, Worton, and Stanson wounded and in the hospital. Will Thompson and I were the only ones remaining in the squad from the Carson’s World mission to hit the dirt of Tau Ceti III, and now there was only me.

  The Tau Ceti III mission was supposed to be a big start toward regaining our momentum and turning the tide. Instead, it almost lost us the war.

  The planet was the Caliphate's largest and most important colony. Operation Achilles was the most ambitious planetary attack ever attempted. The initial landing by four full assault battalions was supported by a division of regular marines, British special forces, planetary militias drafted from nearby systems, a couple units of allied Russian commandos – almost 25,000 troops in all. Achilles took every ship Fleetcom could muster plus three dozen civilian craft commandeered for the operation.

  Everything went wrong from the start.

  The huge concentration of Fleet units managed to take out the orbital and ground-based installations, albeit at a heavy cost. Then, it was our turn – over 2,000 assault troops in the first wave.

  About five minutes after we launched we realized that the bombardment had been a lot less effective than the reports had indicated. The enemy had a prepared network of strongpoints connected by deep tunnels, and it turned out these were mostly untouched.

  First came salvo after salvo of surface to air missiles, launched from super-hardened underground silos that had survived the orbital attack. Our launch procedure was designed for an assault against heavy resistance, and the sky was filled with debris, decoys, and every manner of ECM device. They still managed to shoot down about 15% of our landing ships.

  The initial plan called for us to secure a perimeter and set up a makeshift landing area for the heavy forces. As soon as we hit ground the word came down – we had to take out some of those missile sites first, assaulting the bunkers one by one.

  The logic was sound – if they’d managed to shoot down 15% of our agile 5-man landers the heavy troopships and tank carriers would get blown away. But it still meant launching a series of search and destroy missions against very long odds. Infantry, even powered infantry, going up against an enemy armed with tanks and artillery can expect to take it hard. And we did. Very hard.

  To make matters worse, while our troops were hitting the missile sites the enemy was hitting us, trying to snuff out our foothold before we could bring in reinforcements. The fighting went on for three days without a break. It was a damn close race, but we just managed to knock out enough of their missile capacity that the General decided to launch the phase two landing. By that time most of our units on the ground were down to 50% strength.

  Air cover was critical during these early days. We had established total air superiority over the entire planet on the first day. Atmospheric fighters launched from our orbiting fleet carriers conducted continuous sorties throughout those first three days, providing crucial support to our efforts on the ground and annihilating the enemy air forces.

  The high command had been certain about our control of the sky, but the enemy had another surprise ready when the first wave of heavy landing ships came in. They had maintained a large reserve of aircraft in a hidden underground base, and these were launched in a single massive strike against the inadequately escorted landers. They were mostly antiquated cargo planes reconfigured to carry batteries of close range air-to-air sprint missiles. Against fighters they would have been annihilated, but as launch platforms targeting landers armed only with point defense lasers the result was disaster – less than half of the first wave made it to the surface. In addition to the loss of almost 3,000 troops and 80 tanks, the attack resulted in the destruction of a large percentage of our available landing craft, retarding our ability to get the rest of the force down to the surface.

  Fleetcom responded quickly, and Admiral Scheer scrambled every atmospheric fighter we had. They didn�
�t arrive in time to save the landers, but they did manage to intercept the enemy aircraft as they were returning to base. Outgunned, outclassed, and low on fuel, the enemy planes were wiped out.

  While the air battle was raging, the enemy launched another full scale attack all along our perimeter. We had to fight desperately to hold on while feeding in reinforcements from the surviving landing craft. We came very close to being overrun, but just as our lines were caving in at all points a wave of our refueled and rearmed aircraft halted the enemy attack. I have to commend the pilots. They flew mission after mission, utterly disregarding the devastating AA fire from the ground, and they saved our asses.

  By planetary nightfall, the enemy was pulling back to their starting positions. Our casualties were high, not least among the fighters, who lost a third of their number in six hours of sustained combat, on top of 50% casualties they had suffered previously in the campaign. Only one in three were still flying.

  My company had been assigned to landing facility construction and defense, so we had suffered comparatively few losses to this point. We hadn’t seen any combat until that afternoon when the enemy almost penetrated to the landing areas. Even then we were defending prepared positions, and my squad suffered only two casualties – both wounded. But one of these was Will Thompson, and when he went down I inherited the squad.

  With many of the heavily engaged units down to 25% of their initial strength, our company was rotated into the front lines the next morning. We marched through a hellish scene of destruction, and the ground was so cratered and full of debris it was difficult to make progress, even in armor. But we picked our way methodically through the wreckage and the ravaged landscape, and we reached our assigned position right on schedule.

  My squad took over a section of the jagged trench line about 200 meters long from the two survivors of the original defending unit. I positioned the Squad Auto Weapon in the center of our line and the rocket launcher in reserve, ready to deploy as needed. Then we watched and waited.

  There had been heavy action here, and looking around you could see where the area had been shelled pretty heavily. The trench itself was partly collapsed in several spots, where hasty repairs had been made, but no materials for bracing were available. You could dig like a backhoe in armor, but you still couldn't stop dirt from caving in, especially when it is getting pounded by artillery.

  All of our dead and wounded seemed to have been evac'd, but looking out across the plain in front of the position at amp factor three I could see at least 20 enemy bodies, or parts of bodies, scattered around.

  It seems to me that the smart call would have been to cancel the mission and begin the withdrawal. I realize that I’m looking back with perfect hindsight now, and it’s a dead certainty that no one in the high command asked for my opinion. But we’d already lost almost 30% of the ground forces and two-thirds of the atmospheric fighters, and all we had to show for it was a sixteen kilometer radius foothold.

  But like I said, the high command didn’t consult me...or anyone else on the ground, I’d wager. So we spent two days manning a trenchline on the outskirts of the LZ while our sadly depleted flotilla of landing craft brought down the rest of the invasion force. During this period things were very quiet. The enemy, just as badly battered as we were and having failed to stop the landings, used the time to regroup their own scattered and exhausted units. We'd exchanged only sporadic fire and had no new casualties.

  I was probably one of the only unit commanders to have more troops than he started with, though of course I didn't start as a unit commander at all. Our company still hadn't suffered too badly at this point, but the losses we had taken had fallen disproportionately on the non-coms, so Captain Fletcher reorganized the company. I'm pretty sure she wanted a veteran non-com running every squad, and there were some that would have been under a senior private if she didn't move things around. I ended up with 3 four man fire teams instead of two with five men each, so there were thirteen of us including me.

  I did my best to make sure my three teams had someone experienced in charge, but I only had one other corporal, so two of them ended up with senior privates in command. Team two was under Harris, who was up for a bump to corporal anyway, so I stuck close to team three since it was under the most junior leader.

  Our section of trench overlooked the ruins of a small city, really an industrial complex with an attached residential area. It had been bombarded from space, and we'd hit it a number of times with land-based ordnance too, so the place was in pretty rough shape. Of course Fleet could have flattened it completely, but we actually wanted to take it, not destroy it, so the barrage had been limited.

  I knew the complex was going to be our objective, and I didn't like what I saw. We were about three kilometers out, and the approach was mostly flat and open. Our position was slightly uphill from the town, but there were no intervening ridges or cover. The ground, which was originally covered with scrubby grass that looked like some type of Earth transplant, was churned up and pockmarked from the shelling.

  "Display unit status reports." My non-com armor had enhanced AI with voice-activated control - a nice improvement over the buttons and levers in a private's suit.

  "Displaying requested data now." The AI's voice was calm and somewhat mechanical sounding. It had some type of minor accent I couldn't quite place. No doubt some task force spent a long time figuring the ideal combination of cost-effectiveness and psychology. Or something like that.

  The default projection area was just above eye level, so the data didn't obscure the ability to see through the visor. But rolling my eyes upward always gave me a headache, so I'd reconfigured the system to project information below, so I could look down rather than up.

  I scanned the blue holographic symbols as my AI cycled through reports of each member of my expanded squad. Everybody looked good. Two had minor damage to their armor, but nothing serious and, just as relevant, there was nothing we could do anything about anyway. One trooper was running a slight fever, but if it got any worse his suit would automatically medicate. All weapons checked out and were loaded and fully functional.

  I knew things would get started soon when other units began moving up and taking position around us. It looked like the whole battalion, or what was left of it, was forming up. My AI gave me very limited information outside of my own unit, but the best I could figure there were about 300 troops supported by 6 light tanks to attack along a ten kilometer front.

  Just before dark on our second day manning the trenchline I got my answers when Captain Junius, who was running the whole battalion at this point, came through the comlink. "Squad leaders, prepare to assault the objective."

  He paused for a minute - probably interrupted by his own message from higher up - and then continued. "We're going to hit the place with a fast, hard bombardment, and then we advance. I want the lead units - Cain, Warren, Stanton, that's your squads - to move fast. Use the torn up ground for cover, but get your asses up there ASAP! You'll have supporting units right behind you, so if you get bogged down you'll stall the attack, and we'll get bunched up."

  He went on for about ten minutes, giving instructions to each squad leader and reminding us at least five times that speed was the key to taking the objective. After he was done, I spent a few minutes staring out at the terrain for the thousandth time, punching up my visor to amp 10 to compensate for the failing light, and then gave orders to my team leaders.

  About an hour later the barrage began. We were too close to the enemy for orbital bombardment, but we had several ground-based artillery batteries as well as the company mortar teams, and they all unloaded at once.

  The night sky was instantly illuminated as rounds impacted all along the front edge of the objective. We knew the enemy was there in some force, and it was a good bet they had some ordnance of their own, but they didn't return any fire.

  After about five minutes of conventional fire the batteries switched over to incendiary and smoke, and as soo
n as they did we got the order to advance.

  The field ahead of us was a maelstrom of fire and dense clouds of smoke. The night and smoke obscured visibility, while the incendiary rounds interfered with heat and infrared guided fire.

  "Let's go!" I snapped out the command, surprised at how cool and calm I sounded, and jumped over the edge of the trench. "All teams advance 500 meters and grab some cover. Remember, zigzag approach - no straight lines! And move it, but keep low."

  After I finished issuing commands, I focused on getting myself up 500 meters. I ran an irregular pattern, trying to move as quickly as possible while staying crouched. The ground was a little more rugged than it looked, but it was no big deal in armor, and it took us less than two minutes to reach the first position.

  There was heavy fire, but it was random and not aimed. The bombardment was doing its job, at least for the moment. Still, a quick glance at the unit status display showed I had two troopers down. The data showed both as flatline, though that didn't mean they were necessarily dead. Maybe their armor was just damaged and not transmitting life scans. Maybe.

  As I moved forward I spotted a good-sized crater and headed for it, diving in as an enemy mortar round exploded way too close for comfort. The crater was about ten feet deep, and the high water table meant it was half full of watery muck.

  "Teams one and three, move forward 500 meters and take cover. Team two, hold 90 seconds and advance 500 meters." I still sounded like a rock. It's amazing how much of command really boils down to some type of bullshit.

  We continued to advance, and we started firing once we were within 1,500 meters. Our fire was as blind as theirs, and they had the cover of the town besides, but we wanted them to have as much to worry about as possible.

  They had dug a shallow trench just outside the built up area, but our artillery had really hit it hard, and when we reached it there were only two defenders left standing, and two of my teams tore them to pieces with fire.