Battle for Proxima (26 page)

“Sergeant, I’m picking up movement!” shouted Sergeant Harris at the front, with the skirmishers.

Before Spartan could reply a great volley of small arms fire blasted from the north of their position. The bullets clattered against some of the Vanguards but were incapable of causing damage. One rocket whistled past and exploded impotently against the already damaged perimeter wall. It looked like they had run into the right flank of the enemy line. From the confusion showing ahead of them, it was the Vanguards who had the element of surprise.

“They know we’re here. Push forward! Check your scanners, weapons free!” called Spartan.

A great storm of fire erupted from the Vanguards as each of the metal machines clambered forward and targeted the enemy. It was the first open battle the new unit had experienced. In less than a minute every one of them had expended substantial ammunition.

“Those mules would be pretty handy about now!” said Spartan through gritted teeth.

A fire team of five enemy soldiers, each wearing carapace armour, appeared around a corner. Two of them were carrying a heavy machinegun on its stand. Spartan was facing away from them, but had spotted movement. Lifting his left arm, he targeted the middle of the group and squeezed his trigger. Two were torn apart, the other three dropped the gun and ran.

“Drive them back!” he roared.

* * *

Wing Commander Anders waited patiently near the extended booms of CCS Ark Royal. The massive carrier was still launching fighters to assist in the ground attack and, by all account they were hitting the enemy hard. Angel Squadron were low on fuel and ammunition. They sat patiently as the automated boom and munitions gear reloaded their fighters. There were over a dozen similar booms extended from a series of extended jetties around the craft. By reloading them externally, the carrier was able to continue launching and landing aircraft, thereby increasing the number of fighters it could handle. He tapped the intercom trigger on the fighter’s joystick.

“Angel Squadron, I’m reading ninety-seven percent full. Check in with your stats.”

A series of numbers dropped in on his display as each fighter reported fuel capacity and weapons load. He read through the list, satisfied the squadron was almost ready.

“Good stuff. Delta Squadron is already loaded and waiting for us. Twenty seconds then hit the auto release. We have work to do.”

He looked back at the tactical map of the battlefield down on the planet. It seemed the marines and army forces at the spaceport had managed to establish a beachhead. With a secure landing zone, it was now possible to land heavy armour and set up a forward base.

“Wing Commander Anders. I have new orders for you. The Vanguards are pushing into Oenopion and hitting heavy resistance. Drones are picking up infantry and Biomechs falling back from the spaceport and into the city. We need you to hold them off long enough for the Vanguards to secure their objective.”

“Understood, Sir. I have your targeting data, we’re on the way.”

“Good hunting.”

“Angel Squadron, we are moving to Oenopion to provide close air support. Do a final safety check. I don’t want to lose any birds on the way down. It’s gonna get damned hot!”

The squadron started their checks, each pouring over data to ensure there were no problems or breaches in their fighters. In the airless vacuum of space, the thermal protection wasn’t much of an issue, but on re-entry it was another matter. There were occasions where craft making their way through planetary atmospheres, let in superhot gasses through ruptures in thermal tiling or protection, with catastrophic results. This was a problem going back to the early days of twentieth century space flight. Each of the fighters checked in to acknowledge they were clear.

“Angel Squadron, detach and form up.”

Anders was the first to disconnect from the resupply part of the ship and added a small amount of thrust to push away from the great vessel. He hadn’t yet been aboard the ship as his squadron was based on CCS Wasp. The Ark Royal was known as one of the most battle experienced ships in the Fleet. The scorch marks on her hull showed she had seen heavy fighting over the last months. As he moved slowly away from the warship, he spotted the outlines of Delta Squadron and their fighter-bombers.

“Delta Squadron, good to see you again. We have new orders for tactical ground support over Oenopion. Are your birds ready?”

“Roger. I’ve been assessing the situation while the birds have been refuelled. I have some suggestions,” answered Captain Smith, the leader of the squadron and something of a legend within the 7
^th
Fleet. This particular squadron had the highest kill record of the 7
^th
Fleet and that included the Thunderbolt squadrons. It was quite a feat.

“Of course, what are you thinking?”

“It looks like the Union forces have installed substantial air defences to cover the western approach and the expected push from our ground forces. Normally, we would dive bomb the target, but my suggestion is a low-level strafing run from the east with your fighters. We’ll loiter to the south and hit them sixty seconds after your attack.”

“Give them a chance to try and recover their wounded and equipment then hit them?”

“Exactly. They won’t know which direction to defend against.”

“Follow us in, we’ll assemble fifty klicks to the north east of Oenopion.”

“Roger, we’ll follow your lead.”

Anders altered his course and started his descent into the atmosphere. Around his fighter the rest of the squadron followed, as well as the four bombers from Delta Squadron. As the flames started to lick around the underside of his Thunderbolt, he glanced back to double-check on the rest of the fighters. A short distance behind was the dark shape of the closest bomber. They were shaped like a large wing and easily double the size of his craft. A warning sensor drew his attention.

“What the hell?” he muttered, checking the computer system for more details. The warning was a temperate alert for his port engine. There must be a slight leak. He would have to be careful once they were low enough to restart the engines. It could be a problem getting back into orbit though.

“Sir, I’m picking up radar signatures to the west of Oenopion.”

“Got it, they are scanning for our air support.”

He looked down at the display. The computer had already attached icons for each detected transmitter and they forced a solid wall around the expected enemy positions.

“Angel and Delta Squadrons. Meet at the rendezvous and watch your scanners. They have substantial surface to air assets in place. I don’t want to lose any birds. We’re going in!”e

* * *

The skirmish screen moved forward as a single loose line across the open ground. From reinforced positions ahead, a group of thirty or forty infantry fired indiscriminately. Most were armed with small arms, but at least three made use of unguided rockets that blew chunks of rock and masonry from the buildings. Spartan stepped out from the cover he’d been using and aimed carefully at a four-man group dragging a heavy weapon between them. The twin L48 rifles blazed away, each barrel sending 12.7mm intelligent rounds towards the enemy. The rounds were specially developed for the marines’ standard issue rifle. Unlike bullets and shells of the past, each one was fitted with advanced electronics that could alter the characteristics of the bullet. The most common use was a range mode, used by selecting a distance with the weapon and then setting the round to explode at the preset range.

“Keller here, we’re pinned down by heavy machine gun fire.”

Spartan looked over to his right where he could see two Vanguards from Marcus’ 3
^rd
Squad.

“Casualties?” asked Spartan over the radio.

“None, so far. Every time we tried to push ahead we take fire from the weapons.”

“Stand your ground, I’m sending the engineers ahead for you.”

Spartan tapped a key to access the additional voice channels. “Engineers here, what do you need?”

“3
^rd
Squad is pinned by machine gun fire on the right flank.”

“Understood, we’re on the way,” said the sergeant in charge, with a matter of fact tone.

Spartan hadn’t fought alongside this particular group of engineers before, but experience had shown him they were all a tough bunch. Out behind their battle line, he saw the first moving forward. Each of the marines wore the modified CES suits with the large excavator blades and additional heavy armour on the front. Several rounds of small arms fire hit them but did nothing of note.

“Let’s go!” he cried to Teresa and moved out, following behind the path left by the skirmishers. 1
^st
and 2
^nd
Squad were making good progress and Spartan had already passed over twenty enemy dead. One of Lovett’s squad moved out to his left, when he spotted a man with a rocket launcher.

“Look out!” he shouted and jumped ahead. The strength and power of the suit pushed him two metres forward, far further than he could ever have managed before. As he moved through the air, half the Vanguards in the squad targeted the unfortunate rocket shooter. Over fifty rounds struck him and he quickly disintegrated. It wasn’t just that the man’s body was shattered, he simply disappeared by the horrendous overkill. Spartan landed on the ground just as the rocket slammed down next to Teresa. Their armour was more than sufficient, but its primitive charge sent rocks and dust all around them. Spartan was knocked forward by the blast and stumbled before crashing to the ground. His left knee hit a series of rocks and several lights flashed to indicate a temporary drop and change in pressure in the armour.

“Here they come!” shouted Sergeant Lovett.

Spartan looked up to see the shadows of Biomechs moving out of the dust towards their loose skirmish line. He recognised their height, as well as their peculiar gait. These were the more modern Biomechs, the generation before Gun and his Jötnar, and probably the most advanced models still using human parts. He pushed the ground hard and forced himself upright, instantly noting the impact of light ammunition pattering against his armour.

“Hold the line!” he shouted, lifting both arms to take aim with all four barrels. Off to his side he noticed something attached to one of the Biomechs, it looked like a standard. Pressing a key, the display magnified the area and the creature in particular.

“What the hell!” shouted one of the Vanguards, as he spotted the same peculiar item.

Spartan looked again, it was certainly a standard. It looked like the shape of a beautiful woman with the body of a serpent and two coiled, serpent's tails.

“Echidna?” he muttered.

“I’ve seen that before,” shouted Teresa between firing bursts from her L48 rifles. “It’s the symbol of the Union!”

“Not for long!” he replied under his breath and calmly squeezed his triggers. He fired in shorts bursts, each in the direction of the approaching enemy warriors. Around the feet of the Biomechs were scores of the smaller creatures, some running and others moving using all four limbs. It looked like something from hell.

“Lieutenant Weathers here. We’re picking up several columns of vehicles approaching the perimeter wall from the west. Approximately thirty vehicles, most are carrying troops. From here, it looks like they have Biomechs on foot following behind.”

In the broken, windswept streets of the city, Spartan stepped out into the open. Around him moved a dozen Vanguards, each slotting into a loose line. It was a drill they had often practiced, giving them maximum firepower and mutual protection. Three Biomechs staggered from behind a small building and a dozen of the smaller creatures rushed forward from around them. The Vanguards stayed cool, half shooting at the larger Biomechs, the rest taking very careful aim at the smaller ones. It was over fast and not one creature reached closer than ten metres.

“Keep moving forward!” called Spartan. As one, the line opened up slightly and they moved at a walking pace, still firing as they moved. Inside his suit, Spartan checked the position and progress of the other Vanguards. They were split up into six small groups now and working their way around the western side of the city.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Frigates and destroyers have a long history in the Confederate Navy. The frigates are the mainstay of all fleets. They are small and fast enough to operate as the eyes of the fleet and powerful enough to escort larger ships. A destroyer, on the other hand, is smaller and designed to hunt down frigate class ships in small groups. Both have a critical part to play in small anti-piracy operations and full-scale fleet encounters.

 
Naval Cadet’s Handbook

Commander Anderson read the last report from Sergeant Kowalski. He sat in the office formally used by the compound’s governor, although Confed agents had removed most of the equipment. From this location, he had video feeds and data from all the operational parts of the base. He looked back down at the report, intrigued by the comments highlighted by the Sergeant. The scouting mission was supposed to have been nothing more than routine, but it seemed they had bitten off more than they could chew. He lifted his head up to the sound of his deck intercom.

“Yes?”

“Captain Leander, Sir.”

“Good, send him in.”

The door opened to reveal the Captain of the scout frigate and the outlines of two marine guards who watched the door. The officer moved inside, saluting in front of him.

“At ease, Captain. I’ve been reading your report, as well as the report from the marine detachment on board led by Sergeant Kowalski. I’m sure you’re aware that most of our forces are away with the Fleet.”

“Yes, Sir, hence our need to maintain a constant vigil, in and around the storms, to keep Prometheus secure.”

“Quite. So the report you have sent me concerns me greatly. You say you found a debris field roughly twenty thousand kilometres from the final beacon. Do you have any idea what the debris was from?”