Operation Breakout (The Sleeping Legion Book 3), page 7
Together, the teams dug farther through the Serendine bedrock to bore the tunnel, which the follow-on team of Marines were building. If the other companies could keep up, they would be completing the tunnel linking the two facilities as the battle raged above. Gilmar hadn’t quite figured out whether this timing was a good thing, since the New Order could tap into their maglev line and wreck holy hell on the Marines’ soft underbelly.
The only real hiccup the engineers of the 428th MER encountered was the day an unannounced Hardit militia regiment had shown up. Higher-ups knew they were coming but hadn’t seen fit to tell those laboring in the tunnels. This had almost caused a firefight, which would have ended badly for the poorly armored and unarmed Hardits.
Luckily, the Marines from Pike Company were too exhausted for their fighting spirit to override their common sense, and trouble was averted. The Hardit defectors rode the maglev line back towards Beta City and an uncertain future, while the 428th MER continued to work.
— CHAPTER 18 —
Early Afternoon, Post-Revival Day 46
Supply Depot, Serendine
Technical Advisory Team, Joint Human-Hardit Detachment, Human Legion
Petty Officer Chase Arbor was hard at work converting the Hardit gravtanks and Vengeance Fighters for human and Jotun use. The Marines and Hardits hadn’t encountered any issues securing the New Order Supply Depot, and now the bounty of New Order technology was in Chase’s capable hands.
Much to Chase’s disappointment, there was a whole list of people who had been selected for this mission before him. Colonel Gashi “GG” Gaarjar was busy supervising the creation of the new Akoni City. Basil Terloar was still recovering from the Battle for Fortress Beta City. The brilliant Hardit scientist Ledatic wouldn’t go anywhere without Basil. And Nhlappo’s bizarre tech-head, Commander Tizer, was up in the void somewhere. This left Chase running the conversion of the Hardit technology. He had a lot to prove.
Wiping a thick layer of grease from his forehead and digging through a toolbox, Chase felt at home sitting in the belly of a gravtank, messing with gears and connections. With the help of his new Hardit assistant Teon, they could crank out several vehicles a day, having equally split their time between the gravtanks and the fighter aircraft. Chase and Teon’s relationship was a bizarre one. Teon was not what he expected from a Hardit. Truth be told, he didn’t really know what to expect.
All he knew for sure was that Teon was well-spoken, comfortable covered in grease, and brilliant when it came to back-engineering tech.
“How is your brain able to do that?” said Chase. “For me, it would be like playing a piano and writing with my tongue at the same time.”
Teon was using two fuzzy hands independently to attach wires to the cable harness of a gravtank console, while her tail entered information into a Digi-Sheet. One of her three eyes looked over at Chase for a moment before it returned to the task.
“It’s not different from a Jotun being able to use four arms at the same time,” said Teon. “If the wiring is there, the brain functions as it should.”
The gravtank turret rotated when Teon finished speaking.
“Everything is just wires and connections,” she continued, lifting herself out of the pilot console of the gravtank and tossing the Digi-Sheet over to Chase with her tail.
Chase raised an eyebrow at Teon, who used her arms and tail to lift herself out of the gravtank. She jumped from the side of the gravtank to the deck, scaring a nearby Marine, then padded over to the next gravtank and lifted herself in. Teon was tireless.
Chase shifted himself over into the pilot console of the gravtank and pushed the ignition. The hunk of metal roared to life and broke contact with the ground. He wasn’t a gravtank operator, by any means, but he could still drive it to the loading area. Once the gravtank was pre-staged near the maglev line, to be shipped over to Task Force Carex, Chase jumped out and headed over to where the aircraft were. Those were his babies.
Once an aircraft was finished, it was turned over for training purposes. A new hybrid squadron had been assembled, which was going to be based out of Human Marine Corps Outpost Sierra 3. Field Marshal Nhlappo had found a series of hangar bays and mechanic stations at that outpost, so it only made sense to extend their airpower to this location. The leadership for the new squadron would be a mix of humans and Jotuns from various units, and Hardits from the 75th Vengeance Squadron.
Chase walked through the few remaining aircraft, almost finished, and watched the newly formed hybrid unit walking together and studying his and Teon’s handiwork. The hybrid squadron lived and trained together around the clock, allowing pilots with vastly different backgrounds to begin building unit cohesion.
Stopping for a moment to admire the welds and riveting on the chassis of one the aircraft, Chase felt a ping of sadness. He knew that the minute the pilots qualified on the fighters, they would be flown to their new home. They’d be taking his babies off into the unknown.
Laughter and howling to Chase’s right pulled his attention away from the perfectly spaced rivets. It was odd seeing humans and Hardits laughing together. In the last fifteen days, shy of the Aux system that created the predator-prey relationship, the Hardits began to relax their xenophobic ways and were bonding with their human counterparts. There had been a few scuffles, as this lot of Hardits seemed unusually fearless, but nothing that slowed progress or dissolved their alliance.
Chase smiled when he saw the source of the laughter. A human officer had stumbled out of the flight simulator, thrown up, then passed out on the deck. Teon and Chase had rigged a couple of craft up with hooks and hydraulics to allow for a more intense and realistic flight simulation.
Early into the conversion process, Chase helped Teon add more features, above and beyond the scope of their mission. This allowed AIs to remotely control vehicles and to link in tandem to the living pilot in their flight. This meant they could remotely control the fighters of the Hardits, should they go rogue due to the drugs in their blood.
With those assurances, the merging of the two cultures was finally successful, and real progress occurred regarding tactics. Because of their scientific training, Chase and Teon were tasked with entering the parameters into the flight simulators that the pilots were using. When all that was complete, the pair received provisional flight qualifications. Becoming a pilot and giving up his beloved mechanical tinkering was such a foreign concept that Chase declined. He was surprised that Teon did, too, but seeing her dedication to maintenance, he understood why.
“You going to gawk at your fellow human regurgitating food for the rest of the day, or do you want to help me wrap up these last fighters?” Teon said as she walked by Chase on all fours.
“Right behind you,” said Chase.
It took Teon only a moment to swing herself into the open cockpit of the fighter. Chase grabbed one of the wheeled mechanic tool carts and pushed it over while Teon fiddled around with the controls. There was major corrosion on the side of the aircraft, and Chase grabbed a grinder to cut away the rivets to replace a panel.
The vibration from the grinder made Chase miss the incoming message on his Digi-Sheet. Fortunately, Teon received the same message and was paying attention.
“Check your Digi-Sheet,” she shouted down from the cockpit. “Lieutenant Commander.”
Chase jerked his head up at Teon, who flashed a toothy smile down at him.
Sure enough, the message indicated a battle looming on the horizon and the need for the Legion to have their best mechanics on duty. Chase was promoted to lieutenant commander and made the Hangar Boss for the 1st Tactical Air Wing and the 1st Heavy Hybrid Squadron that awaited. Teon would be his master chief in charge of repairs. After the battle to capture the system, they’d both be transferred to the new science command that Colonel Gaarjar had recommended, under the guidance of Commander Tizer and Tech-Major Basil. It was a good day to be a Spacer.
— CHAPTER 19 —
Mid Afternoon, Post-Revival Day 47
Unnamed Isthmus Chokepoint, Serendine
Commander, 6907th TAC RGT, Task Force Keita, Human Legion
Lance and the Marines of Task Force Keita had been on the move, nonstop, since the assault that led to the death of Colonel Cresil. During that time the task force commander, Field Marshal Grigonna had been training the acting commander of the 828th TAC. Lance tried to assist in this instruction, but his leadership ability was largely in question. After being shot down multiple times by Grigonna, Lance had decided to sit in and provide advice only when queried.
They reviewed the new tactics, the failed frontal assault, and everything they could scrounge from the archives accessed by Xena. There was also a wealth of information being passed back from the Battle of Fortress Beta City. This, too, was analyzed and added to the training curriculum.
It was rather uneventful, though this time Lance didn’t wish for any action. Losing his former executive officer ate at his fighting spirit, leaving a grim husk where the joyful boy had been. He was also concerned about his own mental wellbeing.
The good news was that Basil seemed to be recovering. The tough frakker had died multiple times on the operating table but refused to be counted out. It pained Lance to see his protégé stuck in an airchair. He could tell the carnage Basil had witnessed, and the death of so many Marines during the Battle of Fortress Beta City, had a profound effect on his friend. Lance understood what survivor’s guilt felt like, and the messages they sent back and forth served as a healing balm for both. Basil seemed especially interested in Digi-Pics, so Lance was sure to snag a Marine every now and then to snap a photo to send Basil’s way.
Lance was feeling more like himself due to this, and pushed his Marines. Each day he trooped up and down the line during the prolonged marches. Every rest stop was a chance to train, and every meal was a chance to talk strategy. Ration bars were no longer just ration bars; they were the accoutrements that made training scene tables. Every scenario they could think of was discussed, analyzed, and debated. When one solution had been found, Lance made his Marines go further until the second and third solutions were prepared.
When he was satisfied that all his commanders were up to par, he trained their XOs. While he was training the XOs, his battalion commanders were training their NCOs. Lance vowed never to let a single life become so valuable that they were indispensable.
The Marines and gravtanks of the task force had ground to a halt and prepared for their afternoon break when perimeter scouts sighted the enemy ahead. The Hardits had created another chokepoint on the isthmus that connected an unnamed peninsula to the mainland.
Past that chokepoint stood Mount Durior and the Hardit Incubation Station. Xena assured Lance that the Hardits’ long-range armaments were still out of reach, but every Marine could see the earthen fortress far ahead and wondered if unholy fire would come raining down on them from those peaks.
“Get a surveillance drone in the air,” said Lance. “Front-line Marines, dig in.”
Marine muscle began excavating soggy earth, creating fighting holes, while the upper chain of command began analyzing topographical imagery paired with drone readouts. Gravtanks were positioned in a way to prevent Hardit snipers from taking potshots at his Marines while they labored. Though they were still out of range of known Hardit weaponry, Lance wasn’t taking any chances.
While Lance worked his unit to exhaustion, Xena received numerous queries from his subordinate leaders. Everyone was worried that Lance had snapped, that the loss of Cresil had broken his spirit. Due to this, the autonomy Lance once enjoyed crumbled. Suggestions and revisions streamed into his helmet, and he had to take extra time to address the concerns of his staff, officers, and NCOs.
They were out of luck; the enemy was well dug in. Unlike earlier, the geography wasn’t on their side. There was no hill to shield them or speed their charge. The flat and soggy isthmus would slow their advance, while the entrenched enemy would thin them out.
Lance tried not to show how concerned he was as he scanned the drone readouts. The chokepoint was dotted with artillery, gravtanks, and militia regiments. A wall of enemy flesh and metal, stretching clean across the isthmus, would force them to assault from a position of weakness. Even if they did manage to pierce those lines, they would likely be in range of the mountain fortress.
The only thing in their favor was the air power they had on stand-by. After consulting with his task force commander, Lance organized the effort to contact Outpost Sierra 3, requesting an air strike. With the knowledge that their main comms channels had been compromised, the reports were transmitted in ancient Sangurian. Their new allies on the other end could decode it, preventing the New Order from reading their message traffic.
After what felt like an eternity, they received their answer. They would need to stall for twenty-four hours to allow the disorganized air units to reassemble. They were expected to engage the enemy, forcing them to hold their field to make it easier for the Legion pilots to destroy.
“Frakk me. When will those flight wanks earn their supper?” Lance demanded, inadvertently vocalizing the myriad thoughts which ran through his head in any given second.
While Lance fumed, his mood soured by the lack of air support from the rear, his aide-de-camp planned. During Lance’s update to Field Marshal Grigonna, Hayley requested permission to speak. It was granted, reluctantly, by Grigonna.
“Ma’am, sir, there is an easy solution to this dilemma. We set up our own counter line. Make it look like we’re afraid to assault again. They’ll connect it to Colonel Scipio’s…incident, given all the false information we’ve fed them. It could work at keeping them in place just long enough to allow our air support to destroy them. Colonel Scipio has already organized the building of fighting holes and pickets.”
After giving her suggestion, Hayley snapped to attention and waited for the abuse she feared was coming. She was wrong. Field Marshal Grigonna was pleased and verbally expressed her approval at the idea. With a quick, dismissive wave of her hand, she sent Hayley off to organize the temporary lines the Marines would improve. Taking his cue, Lance saluted and left to supervise.
— CHAPTER 20 —
Mid Evening, Post-Revival Day 47
Command & Control Bunker, New Detroit City, Baylshore
Commander, Spartika’s Marine Corps
The cool evening mist came in through the ventilation pipes that filtered out the deadly radiation from the Tranquility sun. Even in the late-day darkness, the radiation required the planet’s inhabitants to be fully covered, lest they catch a case of the cancers. The air, however, was a soothing balm once it had been cleaned. On a hot day, it could be the only thing saving the Marines of Tranquility-4 from melting, and Spartika reveled in this creature comfort afforded to her by her new rank.
While sitting at the desk in her new command-and-control bunker, the one she took from Nhlappo during her coupe, Spartika reviewed the reports she was receiving from the field. Her spies kept her up-to-date on the comings and goings of both the New Order and the Human Legion.
She was allowing the New Order to think she was fooled by their idiotic, childish tactics. The Hardit morons had left a small element to harass her troops, an obvious distraction. They likely had no clue she wasn’t affiliated with the traitorous Human Legion. So she sat back and let her two enemies slug it out.
Why fight two enemies when I can let them kill each other? she thought, throwing her feet onto the desk Nhlappo once owned. Maybe the White Knights will return while the Legion and Hardits kill each other, and my loyalty will be rewarded.
As she looked through the intelligence reports on her Digi-Sheet, Spartika was glad that she listened to her dead friend, Jennifer Boon. Having more than one spy was proving beneficial. But the old frakker had failed her again. If a report of Nhlappo’s death didn’t come soon, she would hang him out to dry.
The Legion Marines she had captured were finally becoming valuable sources of information, as well. This was day thirteen of their interrogation, and those fools were already starting to share, although it was taking some “coercing.” They had revealed that the Legion had some ancient Marine they de-iced, and he was providing new training and tactics.
Her interrogators were working hard to pull every bit of this training out of the slowly dying special forces Marines. Looking at the latest update, Spartika sent a reminder to the medical unit to increase their visits to the interrogation unit to twice a day. She didn’t want such valuable sources of information dying on her anytime soon.
Even having lost three or four agents of her spy network, Spartika was still receiving enough information to wage her war against the one human she hated above all else: Nhlappo. Taking a few calming breaths, she reviewed the assets her Marines had managed to secure since her spy had retrieved the old maps. They’d managed to secure enough food to last them for a year, and by then she planned on controlling the entire system, and would put Nhlappo’s people into the Aux fields where they belonged.
The biggest boon to her Marines, which came from the Legion, was the plans for the autonomous farming habdisks. While Spartika’s technicians had yet to make the farming habdisks work to scale, they assured her it was a matter of time.
After tossing the Digi-Sheet on the table and standing up, Spartika went over to the wall where she kept Digi-Pics of Nhlappo and all known associates. Piece by piece, she would destroy Nhlappo. By the time Spartika was finished slaughtering her friends, family, and memories, Nhlappo would beg for death.
With sweet visions of her victory in view, Spartika contemplated her options. She realized that her subordinate officers wouldn’t believe she’d contacted the White Knights for much longer. Somehow, Nhlappo’s people had managed to crack the intra-system communications blackout, but all comms out of the Tranquility System were blocked. Although Spartika’s Storks could leave the planet, the Legion would crush them before they made it to the asteroid belt. Without access to orbit, she was stuck.
