Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers (Exodus: Empires at War.) (32 page)

First I need
to fight this battle
, he thought, zooming in on the plot to look at his
ships.  And the surprise on that plot that was still hidden from that
enemy.

*    
*     *

“My Lord,”
called out the Tactical Officer, breaking High Admiral Lisantr’nana from his
thoughts.  “You have to see this.”

“What?” growled
the High Admiral, jumping up from his seat and stalking over to the tactical
station.  He glared at the officer for a moment, before his eyes were
drawn to the display.  “What in the hells are those?”  There were now
hundreds of additional vector arrows on the plot, all of them pointing back at
the enemy fleet.  But they were not colored the green of friendly
forces.  In fact, they were the brownish orange that signified
unknowns.  “Put it on the main holo.”

The new icons
appeared on the central holo, and the High Admiral walked over to stare at the
display.  Figures were coming up under the vector arrows as the ship’s
comp systems digested the data and made their appraisals.

They’re
actually heading our way and decelerating
, thought the High Admiral. 
And
they’re too damned big to be missiles.

“We’re assigning
designations to those ships,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “One
hundred and fifty-four battleships, One hundred and twenty-two of their cruiser
class vessels, and two hundred and sixty-three of their scout/escorts.”

“That’s over
five hundred ships,” blurted out the Navigation Officer.

And where did
they come from?
thought the High Admiral, staring at the plot in
disbelief.  “How does this change the balance of force?” he asked, turning
toward the Tactical Officer.

“We still have
the superior force, my Lord,” responded that officer.  “They will hurt us
more than we thought before this reinforcement, but we will still destroy
them.”

The High Admiral
thought that over for a moment.  Even if he could defeat this force, he
still had the one back at the planet to deal with.  Which meant he had to
preserve as much of his fleet as he could.

“Where the hells
did they come from?” he shouted to his bridge crew.  “And how do we know
that’s all of them?”

There was no
answer to either of his questions, and he felt dread at having to deal with the
cunning humans, who always seemed to outthink his people. 
But we are
supposed to be the superior species, so how can they possibly be that much
smarter than we are.

He looked at the
plot once again, this time feeling more confident.  The humans might be the
smarter species, but his people had never lost a war.  And he wasn’t about
to lose this fight.

Chapter Twenty-two

The soldiers that didn't come
back were the heroes. It's a roll of the dice. If a bullet has your name on it,
you're a hero. If you hear a bullet go by, you're a survivor.

Bob Feller.

PLANET NEW MOSCOW, MID DAY, APRIL
8
^TH
, 1002.

“We’re going
forward in one minute, General Baggett.  Or as soon after that as the drop
occurs.”

Baggett looked up
at the huge shape in combat armor that stood towering over him.  “Thank
you, General Klash'ta,” he said to the other officer, the commander of the
512th Heavy Infantry Division.  One of his brigades would be leading the
attack, along with a tank battalion.  A battalion of Marines and two human
heavy infantry battalions would attack along another axis with a second
battalion of tanks, while a third brigade force dug in on a ridge line to the
north would keep the Cacas from retreating.  Or so it was hoped.

“Intelligence is
still giving us an estimate of two brigades of Cacas,” continued the Phlistaran
officer.  “Fortunately, the only fortifications they have are the two
firebases.  Their infantry only has the hasty fortifications.”

Baggett nodded
as he watched a line of Phlistaran infantry trot by, though cavalry might have
been a better term.  The Phlistarans looked awesome in their heavy combat
armor, each massing as much as a small vehicle.  All carried oversized
particle beam rifles in the hands attached to the large arms that thrust from
their upright torsos, while the barrels of multiple heavy weapons thrust from
the turrets mounted on their long, broad backs.  The only negative was
that they were big targets, but to compensate they carried heavier armor on the
forward sections of their torso plates and on the flanks of their bodies. 
They were still not invulnerable, they were not tanks, but they were truly
formidable soldiers.

“I wish I could
go forward with them,” Baggett told the lower ranking general.

“I too would
like to charge,” said the Phlistaran, his faceplate retracted to show his
fearsome jaws and incongruous gentle brown eyes.  “Alas, it’s the price of
getting older and accepting command, that we can no longer put our lives on the
line by charging into enemy fire, but must order the young to put their own
lives at hazard.”

Baggett thought
on those words as he waited for the time to tick down.  He was now a flag
officer, and it was his job to stay alive so he could command.  He could
take some risks, like leading from the battle zone and coming forward to
observe.  But that was about it.

“The eagles are
on their way,” called out another voice on the com.

“Open fire,”
yelled Klash'tar into his com.  “All units forward.”

“Forward,”
yelled the Phlistaran Brigade Commander.

At the same
moment the artillery opened fire, and a wing of ground attack aircraft came
streaking over at low altitude.  Everything had been planned so nothing
would fly through the artillery, and the guns would not target areas where the
infantry was moving.  Baggett watched his plot with concern nonetheless,
because things were known to not always go according to plan.

About half the
incoming rounds exploded in the air before they reached their targets, and the
enemy fire bases also opened up, sending about half of their fire at the
Imperial artillery positions, the rest to the ground in front of their fighting
positions.

Balls of fire
rose into the sky ahead as the ground attack aircraft dropped their ordinance,
then pulled up and away while releasing rockets that streaked at targets
further into the Caca positions.  A quartet of craft exploded in the air
as defensive weaponry took its toll of the attack.  The other ground
attack craft faded under stealth fields and flew away, two limping from minor
hits.

The infantry
started forward at a trot, their own forms hard to follow under the stealth
fields of their armor.  The tanks moved with them, buttoned down, all
weapons ready and sensors probing ahead.  Artillery came down just ahead
of them, many of the shells carrying bomblets that spread over the ground and
took out the minefields.  Enemy shells followed, dropping more
self-burrowing mines to take the place of the ones that had been taken
out.  Drones flew in from both sides, attempting to penetrate the jamming
and visual stealth of the other side.  And drones fell out of the air,
smashed to bits by beam weapons or rockets.

The enemy
infantry fired first, giving away their positions as they took a toll of the
Phlistaran infantry.  That infantry went from a trot to a gallop, surging
ahead at over a hundred kilometers an hour, the tanks increasing speed to keep
pace.  Particle beams fired from the Phlistaran rifles, the cannon on
their backs firing more beams and explosive shells.  The tanks fired their
particle beams and lasers almost continuously, while their main guns spoke
every couple of seconds.

Baggett followed
the action on his HUD, cringing internally as Phlistarans fell off the plot,
their life signs fading.  Tanks disappeared as well, some gone completely
as their crews died with them, others with the icons of the tankers’ battle
armor still there, showing their survival.

The human
brigade was also going forward, attacking the line on another axis, and they
suffered nearly as many casualties, though their ability to stay lower to the
ground aided them somewhat.  Some bright flashes appeared behind the enemy
lines, and the ground rumbled as kinetics came down from orbit to hit the enemy
fire bases.

And then the Phlistarans
were in among the Caca lines, and it was in many cases hand to hand combat, as
the big enemy carnivores battled the even larger friendly hunting
species.  Baggett switched his view to that of a Phlistaran private,
watching as the big creature speared a Caca with a particle beam, then hit
another with the butt of his rifle.  The second Caca fell back, then
raised his own weapon, but the Phlistaran was on him in and instant, battering
him with his rifle, stomping on his with the blade sharp armor of his hoofs,
killing the Caca in a close and personal fight.  The feed died suddenly,
and the General knew that the big private had died with it.

The Caca line
bent but held, and their own armored vehicles came out of hiding to hit the
thousand ton Tyrannosaurs in the flanks.  A score of the big tanks went up
in balls of fire as the heavy kinetic rounds punched through their flank
armor.  The big tanks got their revenge a moment later, and over thirty of
the enemy tanks died.

Ground attack
came in again, this time higher than before, rippling missiles into enemy
weapons emplacements behind the lines.  Again they lost some of their
number, but bore in to do their duty at the risk of their lives.  Another
pair of kinetics hit, raising clouds of dust as their blast waves flew outward.

The battle
looked like pure hell, and Baggett, watching through the eyes of another
trooper, this one human, felt his own limbs quiver as he remembered fights he
had been in, and the terror he had felt.  The fight had devolved to every
being for himself, no quarter asked or given.  Anyone without a suit
wouldn’t have lasted a second, while those with the armor were still hard
pressed to survive.  Both sides were firing beams into each other so close
they couldn’t miss, vaporizing tough armor and tender flesh alike.  There
was definitely no quit in humans or Phlistarans, nor was there any in the
Ca’cadasans.  It looked to be a matter of who could give until the other
couldn’t take anymore, and it was looking like both sides would be destroyed in
this fight.

“We’re coming
in,” called out the voice of a human over the com.  Baggett looked up, his
visual systems having great difficulty piercing the smoke and dust that hung
over the battle site like a pall.  He switched the view to link into one
of those soldiers coming down, shot from one of the assault ships overhead.

Baggett switched
the view to a company commander, freshly ejected from his entry capsule. 
The ground swayed beneath the soldier as his canopy lowered him, taking off
more of his velocity.  Then the ground steadied as he ejected the
canopy.  The view changed as the captain looked around at his men and
women, ditching their chutes in the air and engaging their grabbers.  The
ground was shrouded in dust, the bright flashes of particle beams cutting
through.  The artillery had stopped firing, for the moment, so that the
troopers could come through without hazarding friendly fire.

In an instant
the dropping troopers were opening fire, hitting the Cacas from above and
behind.  The battle swung in that instant as the front line Cacas
panicked.  Baggett had to give it to them, many still tried to disengage
in some kind of order.  Those were killed in the crossfire, and the rest
went running for imagined safety.  The ground support aircraft swept in
and hit them from behind, while the two land assault brigades came from their
separate axes of advance to hit the enemy in flank and rear.

In minutes it
was over.  Less than a hundred Cacas were still alive to surrender, many
of those too injured to struggle on.  The firebases which had threatened
the camps were no more, and one of the largest concentrations of enemy ground
troops that they knew of had been destroyed.

One of them
,
thought the General, monitoring another situation that was developing,
threatening to blow up in his face.

*    
*     *

Captain
Cornelius Walborski monitored the take from the remaining drone, watching as
the enemy soldiers formed up in their assault formations.  They didn’t
have any tanks or mecha this time, and really didn’t need them with what looked
like an overwhelming force of infantry.

And I have
less than a hundred Rangers left.  We’re outnumbered and outclassed.

Most of the
Cacas were in their versions of heavy suits.  About a third were in the
medium suits that most of the alien ground troops used, but those were not of
great concern.  His own men were all augmented, better trained, superior
soldiers in every way.  But they were facing heavy infantry, whose better
armor gave them a lot of advantages.

Raindrops
started falling, big heavy drops that presaged a cloud burst.  Thunder
sounded, lightning flashed, and the area around the Rangers looked like
twilight despite being early afternoon.  Cornelius looked up at that
incipient storm and came to a decision.

“Everyone, out
of your armor.  First, put it on its back on the ground.  Once you
close it up, set it to maximum power jamming and get into your ghillie suits
and web gear.”

Most of the men
had to guess what was going on, as, with glances toward the heavens, they lay
their suits down and opened them, climbing out.  Each man had an efficient
but low tech cammo suit in a bag on their armor, as well as web gear with ammo
and equipment and their standard Ranger weapons.  It had been thought
ahead of time that as unlikely as their fighting without suits might be, it was
still a possibility, as was scouting sans armor.

“Everyone gather
over behind the tank,” he told his men over the com link that was still active
in their implants.  He waited for a few moments for the men to all suit up
and get there.  All had quickly and efficiently armed and equipped
themselves, and came out of the twilight to gather around their Captain.

The men were
hard to see, even close up, and with a man with augmented dark vision looking directly
at them.  The ghillie suits were made of a passive cammo fabric that used
a chemical process to blend them in with their surroundings.  They also
held in body heat, unless the wearer opened their special venting to let it
out.  The rain started coming down even heavier, and they became even more
difficult to see.

“OK,” said
Cornelius to his gathered men, about three fifths of the company he had come to
this planet with.  “We have what looks like a battalion of enemy, most of
them in heavy suits, coming down our throats.  There is no way we’re going
to stop them standing in a defensive line in our medium suits.  Plus, we
are Rangers.  Our strength is in striking out of the dark, and nature has
given us the dark.”

The rain started
coming down even heavier, hard cold drops, the perfect cover for the kind of
operation he intended.  He looked at the faces of the men closest to him,
and smiled back at the feral grins on their faces.  “What we are going to
do is to move through this storm, into the enemy formation, and kill the
bastards.  We will move forward in half squads, and try to be mindful of
your fellow Rangers.  But above all, kill as many Cacas as you can.
 And good hunting.”

The men moved
away, forming into their half squads of from four to six men.  Cornelius
hadn’t included himself in those groups.  He had planned on going it
alone.  But when he turned to walk away he found himself facing his top
sergeant.

“You’re going to
need some backup, sir,” said the older man, who had been in the Army for over
twenty-five years.  “You may think you are superman, but you can be killed
just as easily as the rest of us.  So I will be coming with you to make
sure you aren’t killed due to arrogance or stupidity.  Understand, sir?”

“Roger,
Top.  Just make sure you let me lead.  You may be the more
experienced, but I’ve got the skills.”

“Yes,
sir.”  The Top Sergeant looked up at the sky as a true cloud burst let
loose.  “So, let’s be about it while the weather is still favorable.”

Cornelius nodded
and smiled, then turned and walked out in a crouch, his eyes wide and drinking
in every bit of light there was to find.  He strained his ears, but the
world had mostly dissolved into the sound of water drops raining from the sky.

Walborski had
slithered forward about a kilometer when he heard the movement of heavy objects
to his front.  Actually, he felt the vibrations of their walking through
the ground before he actually heard them, and he was sure that no matter how
sensitive their audio receptors they were not going to hear him or his
men.  He waved his hand to Top, who was only a couple of meters
away.  He could barely see the NCO from even that close a range, and was
hoping that the enemy would never spot them until they got within a similar
distance.