The Black Ships (32 page)

Märti managed to grasp his enemy’s right
hand and, with the knife temporarily neutralized, drew his sidearm. He had
released the safety but before he could thumb the hammer back, his arm was
pulled back and downwards by his opponent’s tail. Keeping his wits, Märti
pushed the hammer until he felt the familiar click. He threw his weight to the
left so he could fire without hitting any of his own men and, aiming over his
hip, squeezed off two shots.

The strength went out of the small soldier
almost instantly. What had been a deadly opponent was now a slack, dying
creature. The soldier began to writhe in agony as his compromised suit quickly
lost pressure. Märti came to his knees and, looking down at the almost human
face, reached out, pulling the trigger a third time to give the doomed enemy
peace.

That was when the ground in front of Märti
erupted.

Mars Orbit

March 13
^th
, 2028

J
an stood, magnetically rooted to the hangar deck with her heart in
her throat. She had tried to ignore the fact that Liam was fighting on the
surface but she failed miserably. She‘d been standing in the same spot last
night when the Osprey failed to show. Her first hint had been when the camera
crew began to pack up their gear.

They had been waiting to record the return
of the rescued colonists. Though their rescue was of little strategic
importance, it would definitely be seen as a major triumph back home and
footage of their safe arrival aboard the
Ares
was an absolute
imperative. She had approached the one uniformed member of the camera crew, a
Public Affairs officer holding a clipboard, and asked what they were doing.

“Heavy patrol activity closing in on the
shelter,” he said with a frown. “The enemy have good ground-to-air missiles so
we’re no-go until they can clear them out.”

“They?” Jan asked with growing dread.

“The SAS team that they sent down to bring
them out,” he shrugged. “That’s why they were sent in the first place – 
in case things got nasty.”

Now she stood in the same spot as the
previous night, a sleepless night of rampant imagination behind her.

Nasty,
Jan
thought as the rumble of the outer-airlock doors announced the arrival of the
anticipated Osprey.
Such a small word to describe a night of fighting in the
worst sort of environment.
A blue light began to flash, indicating that the
airlock was pressurizing.
Five letters that could mean the death of someone
I can’t possibly let go of – dead or alive.

The blue light stopped flashing and changed
to green. The inner doors slowly swung open, revealing the Osprey. It fired a
short burst from its thrusters and floated towards its assigned docking
station, firing braking thrusters and lowering itself down onto the magnetic
pre-clamps.  The jaws of the main clamp grasped the hull of the small
transport and pulled it down into the fully docked position.

Now came the moment that had been filling
Jan with such a potent mix of yearning and dread, the opening of the Osprey’s
loading ramp. The few seconds of sleep that she had managed to snatch during
the night had cursed her with a dream of Liam being unloaded from the transport
in a body bag.

Her dream seemed to be turning into reality
as she saw three body bags revealed by the dropping ramp. Two medical staff
rushed in as the ramp continued to drop. She took a deep breath and scanned the
red-lit interior of the craft, seeking a hint or a gesture that would mark
Liam. None of the people coming off the Osprey were looking in her direction.
They were all watching the tiny, suited form that was holding hands with one of
the camouflage-suited rescuers. He stopped to remove his helmet and she
recognized Danraj Rai, the former Ghurkha rifleman who had served with Liam in
Afghanistan.

“Dany,” she called out, not caring about
the film crew. “Dany!”

He looked over and his friendly grin eased
her fears slightly.
He wouldn’t look so bloody happy if he had to tell me
Liam’s dead, would he?

The medics came out with a helmetless form
floating between them. They already had a pressurized IV bottle attached
through a newly-cut hole in the arm of the suit.

Liam!
She
tried to catch up with them but they’d mastered the art of moving patients in
zero gravity and quickly disappeared through a hatch on the starboard side of
the hangar. She kicked off her magnetic overshoes in disgust, leaving them to
drift towards the deck where they suddenly slapped loudly onto the deck. She
made better speed now as she floated towards the hatch.

She raced down the companionway to the
infirmary which was built as close as possible to the hangar deck. An orderly
stopped her at the sick-bay desk. “If you’re looking for Captain Kennedy, he’s
on his way into surgery,” the NCO told her. “A few gunshot wounds but the
triage doc said he should be able to pull through just fine.”

Should be able to pull through?
Jan floated in front of the sick-bay admitting station, not knowing
where to go or what to do. ‘
Should’ isn’t terribly definite.
 She
hugged herself. She’d been doing a lot of that in the last few hours.
I
suppose it’s better than one of those body bags.

But not by as much as she would have hoped.

Olympus Mons Objective

March 13
^th
, 2028

M
ärti ran several steps, scanning his surroundings as he moved.
“Tanks,” he shouted into the battalion net. “Tanks coming from around the bend
in the road.” He threw himself to the ground behind the bulk of a bunker just
as the next round struck, ten feet to his left. The first round must have been
a simple kinetic penetrator because this second one threw Märti sideways in a
jarring flurry of dirt and rock – definitely a high explosive round. He checked
his suit pressure and was amazed to find that there were still no holes after
two close hits.

 He looked farther up the slope where
the last of the enemy infantry were still fighting with his men. He set his
rifle for semi-automatic fire and began to pick off the aliens. The remainder
of his men had moved to the cover of the four bunkers on the reverse slope of
the road where it descended into the mine opening. Most of them turned their
attention to the last few enemy soldiers on the slope and the few Swiss who
were among them began to collect and disengage, giving their comrades a clear
field of fire. In short order, they were able to turn their full attention to
the new threat.

“The tanks have infantry support,” Merkel
announced.

Märti eased over to the corner of the
bunker closest to the road and lay flat before easing his head around to take a
quick look. He pulled back just as a heavy machine-gun burst hit the bunker at
normal head height. At least one enemy gunner was sharp enough to expect his
foes to look around corners. Märti resolved to buy an excellent bottle of wine
for the instructor at the FIBUA, or Fighting in Built Up Areas, center. Even as
his mind processed what he had just seen, he could hear the warrant officer’s
voice in his head. “If you’re waiting for the enemy to take a look at you, and
you feel like blowing his head off, where do you think you would aim?”

“The infantry came in soft skin vehicles,”
Märti augmented Merkel
’s information. “It doesn’t look like they’re
familiar with combined arms operations.” A force that understood the importance
of supporting tanks with infantry usually supplied their troops with
light-armored vehicles that could keep up with the tanks and protect the
infantry. They typically carried light cannon and machine guns to support the
soldiers when they emerged to fight. Tanks on their own were easier to hit from
the flank where the armor wasn’t as heavy. It was far easier to aim and fire an
anti-armor rocket when you didn’t have enemy troops firing at you.

The tanks were probably escorting reinforcements for the
mine,
Märti thought as the first of the Swiss mortars went
into action. The mortars were being used to thin out the infantry but they
would be worse than useless against armor. They would need something with a lot
more kick to take out the enemy tanks. They were low, slope-armored vehicles
with main guns that looked to be comparable with their more primitive 120mm
cousins on Earth.

“Cover fire,” Simpson’s voice boomed over
the battalion net. Not sure what was happening, Märti aimed around the corner
of the building and began to fire at moving targets. The enemy machine gunner
must have given up on waiting for him and moved on to other targets. He heard a
deep swooshing sound and saw a Javelin missile fly out from the top of the
bunker that he was hiding behind. The launch rocket had completed its burn before
the missile left the tube and the flight motor kicked in at a safe distance
from the firing team, forcing the weapon up into a shallow climb.

From a height of four hundred feet, the
missile angled steeply downward to slam into the thin armor on the roof of the
enemy turret. For once, the reality was even more impressive than the Hollywood
version. A brilliant orange fireball enveloped the lead tank and the
surrounding infantry were flattened by the blast.

The other two tanks halted, pouring fire
onto the bunker roof as Simpson and three marines rolled off next to Märti. One
of the men unslung a launch tube assembly and held it out while the gunner
attached the command launch unit. “Use the remote,” Simpson growled. “They
won’t let you sit still for another acquisition.”

The man who had provided the launch tube
pulled a unit out of the gunner’s web gear and ran over to the back door of the
bunker. He took a quick peek through the door at the firing slits on the far
side and then held the remote optic in the open door, exposing only his hand.

“Lift it a bit and angle down,” the gunner
instructed. “Rest it against the damn doorframe, Eddie; you’re about as stable
as a deer on roller-skates.” He had the launcher aimed into the opening between
the two bunkers, the targets nowhere in sight. “Ok, that’s almost it; just drop
a degree and go a couple degrees to the right, just a bit more… Hold it there!”
There was a delay of two or three seconds while the seeker gained a target lock
and then there was another swoosh as the missile was thrown forward by its
launch motor. Once again the flight motor kicked in and the weapon climbed up
into the sky streaking back down to smash the left-most enemy tank.

The remaining tank resumed the advance,
perhaps realizing that its tormentor didn’t need to show his face to fire his
deadly weapon. With the two Javelin strikes, the enemy infantry near the
targets had suffered heavily. While the marines loaded their last remaining
missile, Märti leaned around the corner of the bunker to get a handle on the
situation.

It was difficult to even tell where the
tanks had been when they were hit. There weren’t even burnt out hulls to mark
the vehicles, only a dark patch of debris that spread out for over fifty meters
in every direction. Any enemy troops within that radius had been brutally cut
down. There was perhaps a single platoon remaining of the company-sized force
that had spilled out of the six-truck convoy.

Disaster might yet turn to victory.

Not for the first time, he realized how fortunate
they had been to find Simpson and his troops at their landing zone. Without the
Javelins carried by the Americans, they would have had a hard time stopping
three tanks with their
Panzerfaust 3
anti-tank rockets.

The final missile streaked past his head
and the flight motor ignited. Instead of climbing into the sky as its
predecessors had done, it struck the ground and sketched erratic circles on the
roadbed between the two bunkers, coming to a smoking halt, ten meters out from
the leading edge of the defensive structures.

The last tank kept coming.

It headed straight up the road that led
between the two lower bunkers. “
Panzerfaust,
” Märti ordered. “Aim for
the flanks.” There was little chance of penetrating the frontal armor but he
didn’t like the chances on the flanks either; the side armor looked almost as
formidable as the front.

Unfortunately, his pessimism was proven to
be justified. The Swiss rockets lanced towards the sides of the last tank and
their tandem charges, carried in spikes at the front of each rocket, detonated
the layer of explosive-reactive armor that covered the enemy vehicle. The
hollow-charges of the main warheads detonated directly against the armor, as
they were intended to do, but they failed to penetrate.

And the tank, supported by a platoon of
troops, came on.

“Who still has rockets?” he demanded
urgently.

“My company still has four left,” Leuzinger
responded first, waving from behind the bunker on the right side of the road.

“Get them ready. I want you to take them
onto the roof of your bunker as the tank drives between us. You might be able
to fire down onto the top of the hull.” It was a long shot. Though the rockets
carried almost the same mass of explosive as the Javelin, they would still be
firing from a much shallower angle, and the troops firing them would be
dangerously close to the blast.

It would almost certainly cost them their
lives.

The tank was only a few meters away now and
one of Leuzinger’s men stood on the bunker with a launcher on his shoulder.
Before he could fire, a tremendous blast tore the road wheels and track from
the left side of the enemy vehicle. Almost all of the remaining platoon that
had been advancing with it were cut down. Only the troops who had been moving
around the outer flanks of the two lower bunkers were left standing, and they
were only two squads with no armor support or cover.

The third Javelin missile had engaged its
flight motor before crashing into the dirt, which had allowed the fuse to fully
arm. It had been a miracle that the weapon had spun on its side rather than
cartwheeling across the ground. The fuse trigger hadn’t been touched until the
enemy tank drove over it. The blast had been so close that Märti landed on his
back, feeling as though he had been punched in the chest by a heavy-weight
champion. The stunned officer watched heavy ceramic wheels and a long section
of armor skirting tumbling crazily through the air. He struggled back to his
feet and reassessed their chances as he peered around the corner.

“Kill them,” Märti yelled.

He raced out from the cover of the bunker
as shouts rang through his helmet
speakers. Everyone was screaming in
rage, defiance and fear as they cut down the remaining infantry. Before he
could reach the tank, he saw Leuzinger lead his men down to the stricken
vehicle whose main gun had begun to move again. It hadn’t been destroyed by the
blast but had been turned into a stationary bunker.

Leuzinger fired a burst at what must have been the driver’s
periscopes and a wisp of vapor came shooting out.
Their tanks must be
pressurized,
Märti thought as the gun stopped moving.
Surely
they wear their suits; they would just have to put their helmets on but at
least it will hamper them
. Leuzinger grabbed a grenade and shoved it into
the barrel before running back up the road towards the bunker. He had left the
pin in the grenade.

Before Märti could wonder what the young
officer was doing, the barrel began to move again. He was beside the tank
’s
right flank now and was just about to fire a burst at what he took to be a
sensor pod when he saw Leuzinger come out from behind the bunker with the empty
Javelin launcher on his shoulder.
Märti grinned and lowered
his weapon.

The enemy gunner, seeing the dreaded
missile launcher, swung the main gun around to Leuzinger and fired. Whether or
not the grenade went off was anyone’s guess but the high-explosive round
intended for Leuzinger definitely exploded when it came in contact with the
grenade obstructing the barrel. The main gun blasted apart, splitting in the
middle like a peeled banana. After a few seconds, the hatches were thrown open
and Märti ordered the men to cease fire.

It was time to take prisoners.

Leuzinger threw the launcher aside and
sauntered down the road. His men gathered around him as he walked, slapping him
on the back and congratulating him on his heroic defeat of the last tank. Märti
met him in the middle of the road. “That was pretty damned brave, using
yourself as bait,” he said with a grin. “Of course, we could have called in
some Vulcan rounds and pulled back into cover, but this has a lot more flair!”

“Couldn’t let the Yanks get all the tanks.”
The young man grinned, and the men of his command, Americans and Swiss alike,
hooted at his silly humor. After this, they would likely follow him to the
depths of Hell.

They would, if only their fight wasn’t
coming to an end. A flight of Ospreys passed overhead, following the road
between the mine and the main enemy complex. It was unlikely that any further
surprises would come from that direction. He looked down at his wrist display.
The reserve company had taken the fewest losses and still possessed the
heaviest firepower. He looked back up at the young man. “You and Gunny Simpson
will take the reserve and clear the mine. Alpha and Bravo will secure the
surface.”