Operation Breakout (The Sleeping Legion Book 3), page 4
The video showed a man standing in an open field, being fired upon from the tree line. The man, Barin, was shot in the leg and fell to the ground. Undaunted, he stood, screamed Lance’s surname, and charged the trees with his assault cutters. By the time Barin was finally brought low by Janissaries, he had killed at least ten of the monkeys.
“What do you get from this video, Lance?” said Grigonna. “This Barin Vyas was an Aux militia member in 3rd Aux Battalion.”
“That my foolish tactical missteps are being replicated by the rank and file, and that I need to ensure I adhere to the high level of tactical superiority I’ve been trained for,” replied Lance. His blue eyes never moved during his response, and his voice was even and flat.
While Grigonna did somewhat agree with what Lance was saying, that was not what she hoped he would glean from the video. Perhaps today was not the best day for this instruction. She always forgot how fragile the human psych could be.
“No, Lance,” said Grigonna. “I was hoping you saw how your name inspired a mere Auxie to rise to higher glory. It was your name he shouted as he ran into those trees. You have become a symbol to your fellow humans, a living symbol. We must strive to keep it that way. The morale of many of the men and women in this Human Legion somehow revolves around you.”
“A mere Auxie…,” Lance trailed off.
Grigonna was growing impatient with Lance. His unusual demeanor was making communication nearly impossible. While her former commander Marchewka might think Lance was a gift from Tyndall, Grigonna knew he was merely a flawed human with a lot of potential. Sure, he had knowledge brought to them from the past, but he didn’t need to be in command for them to milk that for all it was worth.
Glancing from her Digi-Sheet back to Lance, who was still staring off into space, she growled before standing up and walking away. This was a waste of her time, and time was in short supply. Pinging Igor, her AI, she took a moment to check in with her perimeter scouts. Grigonna didn’t expect any trouble yet, but assigned troops out of an abundance of caution.
Grigonna, the western perimeter forces are reporting a potential Hardit scout in their proximity, Igor chimed through her Aimee.
Grigonna couldn’t believe a scout could be that far out. Regardless, her usually calm demeanor flipped into beast mode. She slammed her helmet back on her shaggy cranium, heedless to the fur which caught in the seal. No distraction, even a slightly painful one, could divert her when the enemy was at hand. In one swift movement, her helmet seal activated, and Grigonna was running on all six appendages toward the perimeter to assess the situation.
When she reached the outer perimeter where her scouts were positioned, the Hardit had been killed. Between Lance, Major Mason, and these idiots, Grigonna went into a rage. The joints comprising her helmet shifted to reveal a bear-like maw, and her twelve fingers turned into razor-sharp, armor-encased spears.
“You! Lieutenant!” said Grigonna as she pointed a finger roughly the length of a human arm at the tiny human. “Did you think perhaps this Hardit frakker could have provided useful intelligence information?”
The cowering human lieutenant said nothing. He was likely staring at the silver-and-black spear hovering inches from his skull.
“No, you didn’t think!” Grigonna roared. “You are demoted to whatever your rank was before you were selected for officership. You may have potential, but not as an officer, not right now.”
Sighing, Grigonna retracted her claws and ordered the Hardit body to be searched and the corpse disposed of. She then had Igor send out a demand for her officers to assemble for an impromptu officers’ call. They would need to advance at a reduced tactical pace now. Once enemy contact was made, protocol dictated full tactical mode. Caution in the face of the unknown just made sense, after all. Such was the warrior’s life, balancing the need for action with the need for restraint.
— CHAPTER 09 —
Early Afternoon, Post-Revival Day 23
Foothills of the Hatto Mountains, Serendine
Commander, 6907th TAC RGT, Task Force Keita, Human Legion
Colonel Lance Scipio was in a state of shock. Bubbling just under the surface of his dark skin and blue eyes was a rage growing with every breath he took. The forced march toward the Hardit Incubation Station had given him time to think and time to review the data coming back from the Serendine Orbital Elevator. The death toll was catastrophic, and now he had learned his name had become a rally cry of sorts. It was already bad enough knowing that his first battle as an officer at the sally ports of Beta City had cost two full squads of Marines. Now more were dying because of him.
What made it harder for Lance, harder even than the brothers and sisters he lost at the alien quarantine enforcement platform, was that the Marines at the sally ports were Marines he was responsible for. He’d trained them, won victory against the “unwinnable CCTE” with them, cheated death during the Free Corps Mutiny with them, and fought to survive in their dying city with them. He knew their faces, their names, and they’d followed him because they thought he was their larger-than-life role model. In the end, they followed him to their deaths.
Just when Lance thought he’d hit bottom, the unthinkable happened. Basil Terloar, the best friend he’d made after being thawed on Tranquility, was gunned down by these New Order frakkers. Medical reports were streaming to his helmet reticle regarding Basil, but the outcome didn’t look promising. And now Field Marshal Grigonna wanted Lance to cower behind more Marines. So “mere Auxies” could be inspired to fight and die. Basil was a “mere Auxie,” too, at least by her account.
It seemed to Lance that he was meant to live, and others were meant to die. This was his tortured existence, and the weight of the dead pressed his very soul. He knew more would join the ranks of the fallen. With every step they took toward the Hardit Incubation Station, more walked toward their demise and prepared to join the legion of the dead that haunted Lance.
Suddenly, in a flush of warmth, Lance somehow felt better. Then Xena spoke through his helmet speakers.
Lance, I just had your nanites give you a shot of serotonin. I get it, you feel responsible for Basil and everyone else, but more people are counting on you. You can’t just wander around blindly. The enemy is clearly present, so pull your frakking self together! I’ve linked with the Fortress Beta City base AI, and Basil may pull through. If you die like a moron on a forced march, you’ll be leaving him to fend for himself if he does survive.
Lance embraced the artificial feeling of happiness Xena injected into his bloodstream and went tactical, trying to stay in the moment and reel in his mind. Sashala flanked his every movement, and their four eyes shot to every tree, rock, and piece of environment around them.
The task forces were advancing forward, following the foothills around the Hatto Mountains, intent on following that route until they crossed the natural choke point of the narrow and wet isthmus that provided access to Mount Durior. Intelligence reports indicated the Hardit Incubation Station was built into Mount Durior, and the older maps they were using listed the rocky mountain as being located on the southeastern-most piece of land on the continent of Serendine. It was the quickest way to get to the Hardits, so Lance knew it would be defended the heaviest. He only hoped they could work some magic to ensure the only blood spilled was the Hardits’.
Mount Durior was still just a bump on the horizon, but drone footage revealed that the rock of the mountain had been cut and carved. The entrance to the incubation station was little more than a glorified hole, hacked into the jagged stone. Carved stairs and walkways surrounded the square-like void of the entrance. The footage indicated there might be earthworks and trenches prior to the entrance to the dank place, but those drones had stopped returning.
Tension was high as the Marines picked routes that provided cover from the looming Hatto Mountains. The range of rolling and craggy peaks made each Marine feel vulnerable as they pressed forward.
The sound of a railgun going off at the front of the column began a cacophony. SA-71 carbines shifted in hands, Marines rolled into combat stances, and metal boots crushed what little grass managed to peek through the ground. The clattering made by so many hands encased in metallic gloves was as familiar as a mother’s lullaby, soothing Lance’s anxiety as he sprinted to the front.
The bulk of the Marines were in a gully prior to a steep jutting hill. The sound of the railgun had echoed from above. Lance figured the Marines cresting the hill had seen the enemy, and he activated his combat thrusters to get himself to them as quickly as possible. While he sprinted from rock to tree, trying his best not to topple as he moved upward, Lance had Xena send reminders to his battalion commanders to maintain their regimental diamond formation.
Lance had made good time, reaching the front of the column at the top of the hill. The Marines at the crest of the rocky outcropping had gone prone, and their stomachs were flat on the ground. Several large rocks and wind-battered trees stood along the ridge, and the Marines had bunched themselves behind these. Sporadic fire coming from the direction of the Hatto Mountains splintered trees and sent rocky chips flying in all directions.
A hand on the back of his combat armor pushed Lance to his knees. Sashala was there behind him, ensuring he didn’t make himself the best silhouetted target on the Hardits’ horizon. The two of them slithered their way up the rest of the hill on their stomachs, finding a rock. Just as Lance was about to peek around to look, Sashala smacked him on the helmet.
“If only we had some sort of technology that allowed us peer around obstacles without exposing our heads to incoming fire,” said Sashala. The undertone of sarcasm wasn’t lost on Lance.
Lance leaned his back against the rock separating them from the Hatto Mountain ridge and the unknown below. He put his hand close to the edge of the rock, the index finger of his ACE-2 Combat Suit opened, and a tiny camera slipped out. Letting the camera peek around the rock, Lance took in the battlespace via his helmet reticle. The view was disheartening.
The Hardits had dug a trench system from the foothills of the mountain range to the ocean. The built-in range finder in Lance’s helmet reticle estimated each trench being at least sixty-four miles in length. Semi-circular layers of earthworks and bunkers, cutting through the isthmus, stood between his Marines and Mount Durior. Perhaps worse, the New Order frakkers had also cut bunkers into the face of the mountain itself.
“Xena, estimate and calculate the intersecting fields of enemy fire and probe for weaknesses,” said Lance.
It took Xena only a moment to relay the information to Lance’s helmet reticle.
“Frakk,” said Lance.
The fields of fire were more than complete; they were layered. Per the readout Xena provided, the drenting monkeys had evenly spaced their guns from the trenches and bunkers and layered them from high above on the mountain. His Marines would be taking fire from above as well as getting shot from below while they ran down the hill into the kill-zone.
Lance snapped the camera back into his finger and looked down the hill at the collective troops and gravtanks. The mound of earth was the only thing stopping the Hardits on the mountain from pouring sabots, rockets, and ordnance down on them. Oddly, the monkeys weren’t trying to lob ordnance at them, despite knowing they were here.
As Lance scanned the field, he noticed the Sangurians holding back, watching. It was clear to Lance that this was some sort of test of their new allies. Realizing the 6907th and 828th would be alone on this one, Lance started barking orders to his Marines as they arrived at the front. He planned to take the battle away from Colonel Cresil, his former XO and the 828th commander. With his regiment now in the forefront of the materializing battle, he began scanning and making quick decisions.
During Lance’s internal planning, Sergeant Major Caelius Thorn came up to him, squatting as the Hardits and Human Legion squared off, the tons of broken stone they sat on being the only thing stopping a full-out conflict. The shooting had died down as the Hardits hunkered down in the bunkers and interlocking trenches they’d just finished. Clearly, their plan to fortify this section of Serendine was intricate.
“Xena, bring up the gravtanks. Have them place themselves high enough up this hill to target the bunkers on the mountain, but not so high they take fire from the trenches below. There’s a case of officer’s whiskey to the first gravtank crew to destroy a bunker. I want constant updates, and I need to know the moment they acknowledge the order.”
Lance watched the gravtanks roar to life and begin slow movement toward him. He wasn’t entirely sure if they would be able to climb the steep embankment of the hill, and for a moment he imagined them flipping backward. His imagination was halted by the sight of a seven-foot Jotun running toward him. Field Marshal Grigonna dropped to her hands, and her clawed fingers churned up earth as she skittered up the hill. It didn’t take her long to close the distance and even less time to start chewing his arse.
“Colonel, last I checked, I was the task force commander,” said Grigonna. “I make the decisions. Since you clearly decided to hijack center stage here, I’ll let you have it. But be warned, I’m not in your cheering section. You mess up, you’ll face a sabot to the skull like any other idiot Marine officer. Remember that, young colonel. The tanks will be to you in under five minutes, and I’ll handle the headache of dealing with the antlered ones.”
Lance knew she clearly meant the Sangurians, whom he also didn’t fully trust, so he nodded his understanding of her orders and went back to scanning the fields. While Grigonna trotted back toward where the three Sangurian regiments were sitting it out, Lance received the update that the Apani gravtanks would be in range of the lines in fifteen seconds. He was so distracted by what was in front of him that he ignored Xena, who was trying to get his attention.
As he was about to give the go-ahead for the gravtank detachment to open fire on the bunkers, Thorn squatted down next to him.
“Sir, your AI just sent mine an update,” said Thorn. “Highly irregular of an AI. She reminds you of the memo sent to us from Antilles. There is disunity among the New Order. Their militia troops might defect, if given the chance. An audio file was attached from the leader of the disaffected militia. The Hardit speaker orders the militia to join us. I suggest we send one of our sentry robots over, playing the message on repeat. Maybe we can avoid this battle altogether.”
Lance sat on his butt while everyone and everything except him did something. Gravtanks moved, the sentry bots started wheeling their way up the hill, and his Marines took shots at the bunkers and hid as sabots flew back at them. At that moment, his helmet dinged with an urgent message. The text hovered at the bottom of his helmet reticle. Lance had flagged his friend’s name to ensure he was up-to-date with his medical progress.
Basil Terloar has *message corrupted*
“Xena, what the frakk is going on? Why is the message corrupted?” said Lance.
The message currently serves no purpose and will only distract from the current battlespace, Xena replied.
“Uncorrupt the message, or I will wipe you from existence with a reformat protocol,” said Lance. “Do it now!”
Lance felt the world fall away around him as he read the message.
Basil Terloar has succumbed to his injuries. Medical personnel are attempting to resuscitate him, but are doubtful. Only ten of the more than nineteen sabots were successfully removed from his body.
Sashala said something to him. Xena was ringing in his ears. Thorn was smacking his shoulder. Lance was gone. Lance could feel Sashala trying to hold him back. Before he realized what was happening, he was running down the hill with his sword in his hands.
Seeing Lance charging ahead alone, with only a sword, the rest of the regiment followed. They surged forward and started gaining downhill momentum. The 828th followed across the open field and trenches separating them from the Hardit earthworks.
Suddenly there was the sound of explosions everywhere as the ground erupted underneath them. Lance felt himself being thrown upward, and then he fell to his side. Sashala was there, dragging him backward, using her combat thrusters to assist in the effort. It was in that moment Lance returned to his body.
How’d I get here? he thought.
Looking around, he could see they’d run into the middle of a mine field. He’d charged the field again. Lance pushed Sashala’s hand away and sheathed his sword as he regained his feet. Switching his helmet to amplify his voice, he tried re-calling his Marines, sending them back to impromptu line they’d just abandoned. It was slow, halting the momentum he’d generated, and more Marines were dying.
Not again, he thought.
Lance pulled his Marines back while Colonel Cresil tried valiantly to do the same with his own regiment. The sabots were falling around them like rain, landing at their feet in puffs. Hard soil sprayed into the air, caught in the wind before falling back to the ground like the Marines unlucky enough to get hit. As Lance struggled to turn the onrushing tide of bloodthirsty Marines around him, Xena pinged in his ear.
Lance, pull yourself together! Losses are light, but if we don’t get the Marines back, it’s going to get ugly. Right now, the Hardit Militia are only firing to keep their officers happy. If they choose to start aiming, it will get ugly. We do not want to get stuck in a firefight with a determined and entrenched enemy while in the middle of a drenting mine field. Pull your troops back now!
It took another few moments, but they stemmed the tide under the cool leadership of more seasoned Marines. They’d been directed by their sergeant major, Thorn, to break contact as quickly as possible. The veteran NCOs used every trick in the book: kicking, hitting, yelling, sometimes just dragging the Marines backward. It worked, and the foolhardy frontal assault was reversed.
In the process, Colonel Cresil was fatally wounded by a stray round that found a weak spot in his ACE-2 Combat Suit. Thorn had the honor of rushing back onto the field to retrieve his body as the battle lulled into inertia.
