Sergeant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 2) (21 page)

The Marines were blind in the shuttle’s cargo compartment, but a vibration was their hint that they were ready to go. When the artificial gravity disappeared, they knew they were out of the ship and on their way.

After travelling so far in such a short amount of time, it was frustrating for the Marines to know they were so close to the ground, yet they had to wait another 40 minutes until they landed. The physics of atmospheric entry could not be denied. At least the French would face the same timeline.

After ten minutes of uneventful flight, u
pdates began to flash on Ryck’s face shield. Both French shuttles had landed close to each other, about 30 km apart. One looked to be in bad shape, making it a miracle that it had even remained in one piece upon landing. The other looked fine. It the French did surrender, only the second shuttle could be used to bring them up to the
Intrepid
. The ship’s own two shuttles would be necessary as well.

The glare of
atmospheric entry illuminated the hold, coming in from the pilot’s station. It was not a steady light, and it made shifting shadows from the Marines across from Ryck. If they were coming through the atmosphere, then they should be landing in less than five minutes.

Their landing point
s were selected and relayed to each Marine’s display. The Storks would land approximately 15 km from the intact shuttle. The
Intrepid’s
shuttle would drop Third platoon another 12 kms on the other side of the intact French shuttle.

A message flashed across their displays. The French commander had been contacted by the crew of the
Intrepid
, and the offer for them to surrender had been made. None of the details of the comms was passed, only that the French needed time to consider it. The Marines were ordered to land, but not advance until given the word to do so.

“Looks like there might not be any action,” Ryck passed to his three team leaders. “Keep alert, though. Talks could break down.”

Despite what he told his team leaders, Ryck throttled back his intensity a bit. It was just as well, really, better, in fact, if the French surrendered. There was no use wasting lives if it wasn’t needed--not just French lives, but his Marines’ as well. Even a platoon of legionnaires could prove a formidable foe, and if it came to that, not every Marine would be likely to make it home.

They w
ere skimming over the planet still some 200 km from their target. The long route in was actually much quicker and took far less energy than descending straight down from the perpendicular as soldiers and shuttles always did in the flicks.

Ryck pulled up an overlay and placed it over the tactical map. They were coming in over the largest
plantation on the planet. If they were going to land, Ryck wouldn’t have minded seeing the native plants, but it looked like it was going to be genmodded walnut and teak, two high-value wood species.

The shuttle broke away from the two Storks
and started sweeping around to land behind their target shuttle. The back hatch started lowering flooding the cargo hold with light. Outside, Ryck could see a bright green landscape, undisturbed by any sign of humanity.

“Here we go,” Ryck passed to his squad. “We’ve got the 12 to 4, so move it out and stop. Form on me as to how far to go. Then we just sit and wait while the commands negotiate with each other.”

The shuttle was slowing, less than a km out when all hell broke loose on Ryck’s face shield display. Four tracks appeared from some three km from the French shuttle, reaching out for the two Storks.

The Stork was a big transport, not a fighting craft. It was armed, and it had defenses, but it was not a fighter. In the second or two it took the hypervelocity missiles to reach the two aircraft, the lead Stork
juked to its right and ejected flares. It wasn’t enough. While one missile missed, the other three hit. The lead Stork took one, the trail two. Both icons went immediately grey.

“Get us down!” Lieutenant
Nidishchii’ screamed over the circuit to the shuttle pilots.

Ryck’s adrenaline level surged as he realized what was happening. First Platoon had been knocked from the sky, along
with the Captain Davis and Gunny Greuber. That would sink in later, if there was a later. Now he had to take care of his men.

“Move to the ramp,” he shouted into his
mic.

They were about 30
meters above the ground, coming into the LZ. This was probably too high to fall without injury, but it would be better to try that than be inside the shuttle if it got hit. And to protect that shuttle, the Marines had to get out of it immediately.

Ryck saw the plasma signature on his display. The
Intrepid
was answering back.

“All Marines, I want you out in ten seconds
so I can fight,” the pilot passed on the open circuit. Evidently, he didn’t want the weight of a platoon of PICS Marines while he took action. If the Stork was not a fighter, the shuttle was even less of one, but the pilot was going to try.

Ryck led the way, feet at the edge of the ramp, holding on to the hydraulic ramp lift to keep from being pushed out. Someone was on his ass, pushing against him.

The LZ was below them, maybe 15 meters away, when the explosion rocked the shuttle, lifting up her nose, dropping the ass end another five meters. Ryck slid out, falling to the ground with a thud. The shock of the ground was followed by Marines in PICS landing on top of him. There were three or four shocks before Ryck was able to look up. They shuttle was settling, Marines still falling from the ramp. As the shuttle fell, it kept moving forward, so the Marines were not all on top of each other. The bottom of the ramp hit the ground, Marines still jumping out, while the bow was levered into the ground with a vicious slam. The shuttle didn’t explode, but the force of the impact collapsed it upon itself.

Ryck tore his gaze away to check his display. An entire platoon was gone. Some of his platoon’s icons were light blue, a couple already grey. They were on a planet with an enemy force of an unknown size and strength.

They were in the shit!

Weyerhaeuser 23

“That’s it, then” Lieutenant
Nidishchii’ said on the command circuit. “The
Intrepid’s
down to 70% effective, but it is in pursuit of the French destroyer. We’re on our own for now.”

“What the fuck?” Sams said. “They’re just going to leave us here?”

“They’ve got over 100 of their own dead, too. The ambush took them by surprise while they were taking out the two shuttles and the first missile launcher. Despite their damage, they’ve been ordered by the commodore to pursue and finish off the enemy ship. Evidently it’s more damaged than the
Intrepid
and is trying to flee.”

“What about Second Platoon?” Ryck asked. “They can’t survive for long in EVAs.”

“There’s been no contact with them for over an hour. Our command is assuming they are lost, too.”

“‘Assuming?
Without proof? Sorry sir, but that is fucking bullshit,” Sams said, his anger evident.

“Yes it is fucking bullshit, sergeant. So what do we do about it? Sit here and cry, or get on with our mission? Get a fucking grip on
yourself,” the platoon commander shouted back.

Ryck had never heard the platoon commander raise his voice, much less use profanity. It took him by surprise.

“Now, I want a complete inventory of what we’ve got, and I want it in five minutes, no longer. They know where we are, and I don’t know what else they’ve got up their sleeves, but we’re getting out of here.”

“What about the WIAs, sir
?” Doc Grbil asked.

“What’s their status?” the platoon commander asked him.

“Roskins, Singh, and Patani are hurt but ambulatory. I’ve bandaged them up, but they can get back in their PICS and function. Smythe, Tally, Portono, and Justice are pretty bad. Justice isn’t going anywhere with that leg, and I’ve got the other three in ziplocks. Oh yeah, there’s the crewchief. He’s probably got a concussion, but he’s cognizant.”

The lieutenant didn’t have to ask about the KIAs. Both pilots and five Marines, including Sergeant Paul Pope, Popo, had been killed.
Ryck wasn’t letting himself think of his friend for now. He would grieve later.

“Staff Sergeant, any way we can get that sailor
inside a PICS?” the lieutenant asked.

“
We can get him inside one,” SSgt Hecs began.

Each one knew that “one” meant one of the dead Marine’s PICS.

“. . . but can he operate it? Why don’t we leave him here with the KIA and ziplocked WIA? We can move them over there under the trees in case someone lobs something at the shuttle hulk, but I don’t think anyone is going to attack one sailor and the wounded. Leave him and LCpl Justice to watch over them.”

“OK, do it. You two,” he pointed at the two surviving squad leaders,
“go get me that report.”

As Ryck hurried off, SSgt Hecs grabbed him and said on the P2P, “Make sure you take the cold packs from the dead.”

Ryck momentarily recoiled, but then common sense kicked in. They had no idea on how long they were going to be stuck on the planet. Each Marine had the coldpack in his PICS, then one spare. A coldpack was good for a little more than a day, maybe up to 30 hours. After that, even if the PICS was otherwise battle-worthy, it could not be used. Within 20 or 25 minutes at the most, the Marine inside would go into heat exhaustion. In another five minutes, he would be dead.

“Roger that,” he said, calling Rey forward.

He told Rey to collect the packs, both the ones in the PICS and any spares. He then took Third Team and went back into the shuttle to see what could be salvaged.

The door gun on the shuttle was a
300-round-per-minute 25mm KE gun. Without the shuttle’s targeting system, it would not be accurate, so Ryck wasn’t sure how they could use it, but he told LCpl Martin to take it out of the pintle. It was bulky, and the ammo box added more weight, but it was nothing a PICS could not handle.

Ryck was much happier to see the crate for the M229. This was a small, but compact artillery piece. It could be horsed around by a single Marine, so it
was even easier for a Marine in a combat suit. There were only ten rounds for it: five anti-personnel and five anti-armor. Ryck was expecting more rounds, but he couldn’t find any.

He was also hoping to find one of the pulse cannons. He knew the company had one, but
not where it had been loaded for the operation. The pulse cannon was their only crew-served energy weapon, and if they were going to face legionnaires, and those legionnaires were in R-3s, then they really needed that weapon. He had to get back to the lieutenant, so he gave up the search and moved back out of the wreck.

With comms, a command meeting did not have to take place with each person in a circle facing each other. In fact, that was not tactically sound. Yet that is what usually happened. Ryck, SSgt Hecs, Sams, and the lieutenant came together and met where they could clear their visors and see each other’s faces while they talked.

SSgt Hecs started it off. “Without counting the four WIA and the Navy crewchief, we’ve got 26 Marines, 25 from the platoon and Cpl Evans from EOD, and Doc Grbil. All PICS are functioning, but ten are at less than 90%. LCpl Khouri’s right arm is inoperable, and his HGL broke right off when he fell out of the shuttle. However, the rest of his PICS functions. Power levels on all suits are still above 95%. All told, I’m amazed the damage to the suits was as light as it turned out to be. We are still combat effective as a platoon.”

Sams told the lieutenant that Cpl Evans had only a partial EOD kit, and Ryck reported the
status of the M229, which caught their attention. None of the Marines in the platoon were artillery, but the gun was pretty easy to fire.

“Well, it is what it is,” the platoon commander said when Ryck finished. “This is what we have to play with. I want to move over to here,” he said, as a spot appeared on their display map.
“I want a good defense put in, then we’re going to try and recon what we’re facing. After that, we’re going to pay them a little social call. We owe them that.”

Ryck lay flat on the ground, his face
shield in the dirt. Ahead of him, over a small rise and about 500 meters away, was where they had determined the French were.

PICS were not made for lying down. Once on their bellies, the
y were not made to rotate the helmet and neck to the right or left. So once down, the Marines inside the PICS were essentially blind.

Ryck would rather have been on his back. At least that way, he could see something. But if they had to move quickly, with their attitude systems turned off, it was quicker and easier to
stand up while face down than while face up.

“OK, Ryck, launch it,” the lieutenant said beside him.

Ryck, the platoon commander, Cpl Evans, and Cpl Rey’s team had left the rest of the platoon some three hours earlier, carefully advancing forward. Judging from where the French shuttles had landed, a few data captures by their sensors, and pure gut instinct, they figured the French had to be close to the position they had identified.

In order to plan an assault, the Marines had to know what they faced—hence, the recon. The lieutenant’s AI gave it
a 82% probability that there was a Legion platoon there, in combat suits. SSgt Hec’s AI came up with a 77% probability of the same thing.

The other
group of French another 15 kms away were almost assuredly the Navy crew of the gunship. The Marines were able to capture many more data points and all pointed to that fact. Of course, Admiral DeMornay had spoofed an entire Federation task force, so spoofing a single Marine platoon was not something too difficult to imagine.

Ryck toggled the dragonfly loose. It rose in the air,
then started making its way through the trees. The forest was thick, but somehow sterile. Normal forests had a variety of species, but this one had three plant species: the walnut and teak Ryck had read about online and a hanging moss covered vine that helped regulate water flow to maximize tree growth. The vine-regulated water system must have worked, because the trees were pretty huge for only being 30 years old.

The dragonfly was programmed to flit around like its namesake, but that would only fool a casual observer. It was shielded, so it should escape sensor detection, but anyone seeing it would understand what it was.

The dragonfly could have covered the 500 meters in less than 20 seconds, but that speed would probably give it away to any observers, so it slowly made its way through the forest. It wasn’t until it was 30 meters away that it detected movement. Ryck slowed it down and gave it the command to latch itself to one of the trees.

What it
captured wasn’t good. There was about a platoon of legionnaires there, all in R-3s. They were getting ready for something. That something was most likely an attack on the Marines. The Marines had been using their best shielding technology, but if they picked up slight data points on the Legion, it was likely that the Legion had picked up the same points, if not more, on the Marines.

A platoon of R-3 legionnaires was a very
formidable opponent for a platoon of PICS Marines. This was not just in theory. In war games, back when relations were better, the computer referees almost always gave the Legion victories over the Marines when numbers were equal and it was PICS Marines versus R-3 legionnaires. The current PICS was slightly better than those used during the war games, but the R-3s were probably better now as well.

Ryck wanted to be able to assess the full strength of the legionnaires.
He counted 12 within view, but he knew there were probably more. He never had the chance for a full count, though, as all the legionnaires in view of the dragonfly suddenly turned to look up at it. One legionnaire pointed up, his arm gunport cover retreating to reveal a snub barrel projector. Then the dragonfly went dead.

“Let’s get out of here,” the lieutenant said.

All five Marines got up, turned their attitude stabilizers back on, and started to move. They weren’t heading directly back to the rest of the Marines, but off at a tangent. Above them, rounds exploded in the canopy. At the second set of explosions, something pinged of Ryck’s PICS, but whether that was shrapnel or a piece of shattered wood, Ryck didn’t know.

Looking at his display, he could see ghosts appearing behind him. The R-3s were very good and were shielded quite well, but when they were moving, the shielding was less effective.
This was opposite from the Marines fractured arrays. They were not as effective when still, but worked better when moving. With the legionnaires in hot pursuit, the Marine AIs could pick up more data points, but as they were still approximations, the icons were not the bright colors of identified objects or people, but wavering off-white circles. Ghosts.

The rounds
exploding in the canopy stopped, either because the legionnaires firing them were out of mortar rounds or they just realized that the rounds were not very effective. A few moments later, though, there was a huge blast in back of the Marines, and suddenly, a light red icon appeared on Ryck’s display.

A legionnaire was down, his suit’s shielding compromised.

“Holy shit, Evans, it worked!” Ryck exclaimed.

They had brought along the EDO Marine because
Evans had been sure he could booby-trap their route back for just this situation. Evans had placed five mines, all with passive firing mechanisms. When the Marines ran through the minefield, the mechanisms were bypassed. If anything else lumbered by, the vibrations of the footsteps set off the explosion. The theory was sound, but Ryck had figured that the legionnaires would be able to sense the explosives, if not the mechanism. He was wrong.

“
Oohrah!” Evans exclaimed.

The ghosts stopped advancing. The legionnaires had been caught up in the chase, and it had cost them. First blood had gone to the Legion when they shot down the Storks and the shuttle. Second blood went to the Marines
, and even if the two were in no way equal, it was a good morale boost for the Marines to strike back at all.