The Black Ships (31 page)

500 meters from Olympus Mons Objective

March 13
^th
, 2028

“W
ell, Major,” Simpson began, lowering the binoculars. “I’d say you
have it figured out just fine.” He slithered back down the slope into a shallow
depression just behind the crest, turning around to lean against the loose dirt
next to the major. He’d been looking at the defenses around the mine entrance,
the main objective of
Operation Gold Tooth
. There were four bunkers
surrounding the entrance, two flanking the approach road and two more farther
up the forty-degree slope. “The bunkers have overlapping fields of fire but not
by much. Those bastards in orbit will only give us six rounds of high
explosive?”

Märti nodded, a reaction that was lost
because the two men weren’t facing each other; Simson wasn’t looking through
the major’s visor. “They say they’re running low and need to prioritize the
fire support on
Candy Store
.” The fight to seize the main compound.

By way of an opinion, Simpson deployed a
curt, reproductive word. “Monkeys and typewriters,” he added scornfully. “If
that’s the case, then my recommendation would be to follow the plan that you
already came up with. No sense gumming up the works with some kind of fancy
over-complicated crap. Drop everything on the bunker that’s facing us and get
inside. Then we can split up and fight our way through the remaining three
bunkers. I didn’t see any tracks between them so I’ll bet you a month’s pay
they have tunnels.”

“Tunnels?”

“Sir, have you ever seen a defensive
position where the strongpoints couldn’t communicate?” the NCO asked bluntly.
“Even the tactical morons that we’ve been fighting should know enough to
realize that they may need to move men or ammunition without traipsing across
open ground during a firefight.” It was a dubious point; earlier that morning
they had wiped out an enemy foot patrol that had been trudging along the crest
of a high ridge, easily visible against the sky. The enemy was entirely
unpredictable: they might set up a decent ambush or they might just as easily
walk into one.

Märti had been feeling a growing sense of
unease. Their enemy had certainly shown little in the way of tactical expertise
but their equipment was good, if somewhat unimaginative. If they had been
preparing a force to invade Earth, then there had to be some half decent troops
somewhere, didn’t there? 
Perhaps they’re all down at
Candy Store,
Märti thought.
Maybe they were relying on destroying our cities and
infrastructure first,
he thought as approaching shadows brought his gaze
up.
If that’s the case, it’s a good thing we’re fighting them here.

Merkel, Leuzinger and Stager arrived,
dropping down opposite Märti and Simpson in the small hollow. The major
launched right into the briefing. “We have six rounds of HE.” He noted the
indignant looks but didn’t waste time discussing the quality of fire support.
“As soon as the first round hits, Alpha and Bravo will lead us up and hold at
twenty meters; move fast and stay close to the bunker axis so their neighbors
don’t see you coming. Leuzinger, I want you and Gunny Simpson to take the attack
into the bunker system. We don’t know for sure how they communicate, but
there’s a good chance they may have tunnels linking the bunkers.”

Märti looked down at his screen. “Any
questions?” He looked at the officers in front of him. Merkel looked tired but
ready, Stager had a nervous frown on his face and Leuzinger was close to
exhaustion but his eyes burned with eagerness. The young officer had always
shown a great deal of potential but the incident in Paris had come to weigh
heavily on his shoulders. The last few hours of constant interaction with
Simpson had gone a long way to restoring his effectiveness.

Märti had originally placed Leuzinger in
the reserve to keep him out of the way but he now had no qualms about letting
him lead a dangerous assault. He saw questions, unasked, on Stager’s face. He
remembered the fear and self-doubt that he had felt taking over a company in
peacetime. In combat, it had to be much worse. “Thank you, gentlemen; the
ordinance will hit in five minutes. The six rounds will hit in thirty second
intervals. Be sure to keep count.”  He stood, ending the briefing.

“Stager,” he called the man back as he was
turning to leave with the others. When Leuzinger and Merkel were out of
proximity range, Märti looked him in the eye. “It’s not easy, stepping into
Captain Ramser’s shoes,” he said mildly. “Just remember that the platoon
leaders will look after their men. Your job is to turn my orders into their
orders.”

He gazed quietly at the man for a moment.
“When in doubt, go ahead and
make
a decision.” He turned and started
down the hill with the new company commander. “The worst decision is the one
you don’t even make. Even a bad choice is usually better than none at all so
don’t spend too much time agonizing or the enemy will start calling the shots
for you.”

They reached the bottom of the hill and
Stager turned to the major. His face was calmer but still troubled. “Thank you,
sir.” He took a deep breath. “I’d better get back to my men.”

Märti headed for the reserve company. He
would approach with them but he would leave Leuzinger to lead the attack on his
own. It was hard enough, making life-and-death decisions without having your
boss looking over your shoulder.

He reached them just before the first round
struck on the distant bunker. The mad scramble began, crossing the
five-hundred-meter field of fire in front of the enemy position. Rather than
advancing in wide company frontages, the men streamed uphill in rough columns,
threading their way through the boulders and trusting that the first round had
penetrated the roof of the enemy bunker. If it hadn’t, then the bunker would be
intact and its garrison fully alert.

The second round struck and Märti was
shocked at how soon it had come. He took a look at his screen as he bounded
along in the low gravity and saw that it had indeed been thirty seconds. He was
thinking of the old nightmare that had haunted him as a child.

A huge mastiff was chasing him, saliva
dripping from his massive jaws and Märti was trying to run away, but his
strides were alarmingly ineffective. The faster he tried to run, the slower he
seemed to move, and the huge dog was always on the verge of closing his teeth
around his ankle when he would awake, screaming in the night.

Now, desperately trying to move quickly, he
felt that he was barely covering any ground at all as he shambled along in the
low gravity. He knew his old fears were getting the better of him. In fact,
they were making commendable progress. His fear stemmed from the knowledge that
these men were racing against the end of the bombardment. Once it let up, the
enemy would reinforce the damaged bunker, and he needed to get there first so
it would be his men moving through the tunnels rather than theirs.

The third round hit and Märti was starting
to breathe more heavily. His breath was starting to show as a light fringe of
fog around his visor and a powerful thirst was starting to make itself felt. He
took a quick sip from a straw mounted in front of his face and stumbled on.

The fourth round struck and they were close
enough to see the blast of debris sheeting out the narrow horizontal firing
slit that ran the length of the bunker’s curved face.
 The shock wave
alone would kill anyone inside,
he thought as they ran.

The fifth round fell five meters behind the
bunker and exploded uselessly. Its guidance fins had probably malfunctioned. It
was a minor miracle that it had fallen long rather than short, in the middle of
Märti’s troops. If anything, the near miss made Märti feel better about his
decision. His first inclination had been to drop one round on each bunker,
leaving the extra two for the one to their front. He had decided against it,
thanks largely to his mistrust of the artillery crews in orbit. They had
already proven their ability to make mistakes by firing an unexpected round on
Ramser and his men. Märti had decided to put all six rounds into the one bunker
to make sure it was clear.

The rest would be in the hands of his own
men.

The sixth round hit as the lead companies
were setting up positions roughly twenty meters in front, throwing smoke
grenades to obscure the view of any surviving enemy. “Go, Leuzinger. Take them
in.” Märti waved the reserve company around the right flank of the lead
positions as he came to a halt between Stager and Merkel’s companies. He
scrupulously kept his distance from both company commanders, wanting to stay
out of Merkel’s way and not wanting to interfere in the development of Stager’s
new role.

The men of the reserve poured onto the roof
where the dropping ordinance had created a convenient entry. Two of the
augmented fire teams assumed an all around defense on the roof while the third
prepared to enter. Two men stood by the hole. One of the two pulled the pin on
a grenade and released the arming lever, ‘cooking’ it for two seconds before
dropping it into the hole and unslinging his assault rifle.

The grenade detonated, sending a shower of
fragments out of the hole and the second man was the first to drop into the
bunker. As expected, nothing had survived and they must have found tunnels
because the rest of the fire team poured down into the hole, followed quickly
by the other two teams.

“Stager,” Märti spoke calmly. “Take your
company forward and set up an all-around defense based on the destroyed
bunker.” He got up and moved forward with them. Moving around to the back, he
could see a small trench leading down to a door at the back of the structure.
“Merkel, bring your company up and put one platoon at the back of each of the
three remaining bunkers. They have hatches at the back so stay sharp. You might
get visitors.”

He heard a thump to his left and turned to
see a cloud of debris coming out the next bunker’s firing slit. Almost
instantly, the sound of automatic weapons fire echoed out through the ruined
roof of the bunker where he now stood. Seconds later, a similar thump to the
right indicated that a fire team had reached the next bunker in that direction.

 “Number four is bugging out,” Merkel
announced. “We see six of them in the open but their suits are compromised -
shrapnel from the clearing grenade.”

Märti looked over to the far corner as
several small figures writhed on the ground. With holes in their suits, they
would be exposed to the low atmospheric pressure. Even now, water in their skin
would be turning to vapor, rupturing cell membranes and destroying tissues.
Their lungs would be expanding as the alveoli filled with expanding gas and
their eyeballs would be on the point of bursting. It was a terrible way to die.
Just like the marines from the downed Osprey.

And the men of Merkel's company, usually
eager to fire on the invaders, stood and watched.

In the space of ten minutes, they had taken
the ring of bunkers guarding the mine entrance. Static defenses could be
formidable, but they couldn’t be moved and the short artillery bombardment had
been enough to open the door and let the combined Swiss-American force
in.  

Leuzinger advised that he had one man
lightly wounded and Märti was breathing a sigh of relief when the corporal
standing next to him pitched forward. The major dropped automatically, his mind
replaying the sight of blood as it erupted from the junior NCO’s chest. He
scrambled around to face the direction that the bullets had come from.
Schysse!
Intelligence had been certain that there were only miners inside and a
small surface garrison. “Contact! Multiple enemy coming out of the mine
entrance,” he  shouted over the battalion net. “All units engage.”

He unslung his assault rifle, cocking it
for the first time since landing on the planet. There were at least a hundred
enemy streaming out of the tunnel mouth, firing up from the deep cutting that
connected the tunnel to the roadbed. Stager’s company had lost close to ten men
in the surprise of the unexpected attack. The rest of his company re-deployed, moving
over to fire on the enemy from the low ridge of the cutting.

Leuzinger and Simpson led their augmented
fire teams down the slope from the uphill bunkers, firing from the top of the
mine entrance. Marines with M203 grenade launchers mounted under their barrels
were firing M576 buckshot rounds into the closely packed enemy as they sought
to fight their way up the hill and overwhelm the humans. Each round spread two
thousand pellets into the milling troops and many of those who weren’t killed
outright were left to scream in agony as their body fluids boiled out through
the holes in their suits.   

Märti’s men made use of the ‘Jungle Style’
lugs that allowed them to connect several magazines together, allowing for
quick changes as each one emptied. He had not used the feature as he mostly
kept his weapon slung. He was regretting that decision now as he quickly
emptied his first magazine. He was ejecting the spent magazine when a group of
more than ten enemy managed to break through the rough defensive line of
Stager’s company.

Stager, seeing that the fire teams above
the tunnel were effectively gutting the enemy charge below, took the remaining
platoon from the ridge and led them down and into the vicious hand-to-hand
fighting. Märti was just getting a magazine slotted into his weapon when an
alien crashed into him, catching him off balance. They tumbled to the dirt,
each trying to reach for a weapon. The alien was quickest, pulling a grey knife
from a sheath under his left arm.