Battlespace Nomad, page 16
Moments later, Boomer chimed in again. "Mike Tango Oscar. Battery two, DPICM in effect, over."
Boomer gave Jimmy the message to the observer (MTO), whereby he informed the forward observer what was approved for the mission. In this case, the gun battery would send two volleys of the munition of choice when the time came.
"Shot, over," Boomer said, denoting the first round had been fired.
"Shot, out," Jimmy gave the obligatory response.
"Splash, over," Boomer said, warning Jimmy that the first round would impact within seconds.
"Splash out!"
Jimmy raised his binoculars to his eyes and lined up the reticle pattern on the base of the explosion. Using the scale of mils, the reticle pattern told Jimmy what correction to make to get the next round closer to the target.
"Right four zero, drop one hundred, over," Jimmy called out.
"Right four zero, drop one hundred, out!"
The next round impacted much closer to the target, but not quite close enough.
"Left three zero, add five zero; fire for effect!"
With the final adjustment called out, Jimmy requested 'fire for effect,' by which the gun battery would fire two full volleys of DPICM over the target area.
"Shot, over!" Boomer called out.
"Shot, out!" Jimmy replied.
"Splash, over!"
"Splash, out!"
The target area erupted in seconds with a cacophony of thunder and tiny black clouds of smoke from the high explosives. The engine noises of the trucks stopped, and the convoy was in ruins.
"End of mission! Five heavy trucks neutralized; estimated thirty casualties, over!" Jimmy declared triumphantly.
"End of mission! Five heavy trucks neutralized; estimated thirty casualties, out!"
Cheers erupted from the gallery as the team got its first glimpse of what Jimmy could bring to the table in a fight. It was a critical capability the team had been missing until now.
"Well done, Nomad," Captain Hawthorne said from across the room. "Now, let's get everyone on the same sheet of music. Professor, you're next to go."
"I've got it, Boss," Sergeant First Class "Professor" Gomez replied. Professor was the team's operations and intelligence specialist.
Jimmy, being the subject matter expert, rushed over to Professor's desk and helped him get set up. When the new target appeared on screen, Jimmy would show him how to discern the coordinates needed to call it in.
Like the other operators, Professor was a quick study and executed his fire mission with few defects. The other team members took turns one by one, and Jimmy was there to guide them as needed, reinforcing the bond and unity among the team.
The ship-wide PA system crackled to life when the training event was winding down. "All hands, this is the captain. We're transitioning out of FTL in five minutes. Then we'll be within three hours of our destination."
"You heard the man, people," Master Sergeant Best called out. "Let's get ready to cross-deck our equipment to the dropships."
Camp Foster was anything but elegant. When Jimmy stepped off the ramp of the drop ship, the system's sun greeted him like a warm hug. Spending too much time on ships meant a lack of sunlight, and Jimmy was happy to feel the rays of natural light tickle his skin. The encampment was austere, with red-painted wooden buildings that seemed cobbled together by the lowest bidder.
All the buildings were prefabricated, and all looked the same. Surrounded by architectural ugliness, Jimmy strolled to the barracks with his duffel slung over his shoulders. He stopped and turned to look back when he heard the heavy stomping. Engineers with mech loaders approached to unload the armor jigs and other various crates of equipment the team had brought with them.
Boomer caught up to Jimmy, carrying his bags. "Let's get bedded down. I have a feeling we'll be hitting the ground running, and I need my beauty sleep."
"What about our equipment?" Jimmy asked.
"The engineers can handle it," Boomer replied with a shrug.
Jimmy expected to work like a mule to unload and stage their equipment once on the ground. But that was a regular Army thing, and Jimmy still had much to get used to.
25
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are embarking on our first live mission since our test mission," Hawthorne announced, his voice carrying the weight of the moment as he stood at the podium in the briefing room.
The holographic display flickered to life, projecting the image of a nondescript building. "This is a suspected safehouse, potentially a hub for the resistance's slave trade on Chartea." Hawthorne's words hung in the air, underscoring the gravity of the situation.
Jimmy's blood boiled with the thought of being enslaved and sent to a hostile planet to be used as manual labor, or even worse. However, the mission was to crack down on the horrendous activity and, if possible, liberate any captives they came across.
"The objective is straightforward, but the path is shrouded in uncertainty. HQ wants confirmation that this is an active part of the resistance before it's marked for destruction. So, we'll need to collect as much data as possible. If presented with an opportunity to do so, we'll capture a resistance member and make him talk," Hawthorne explained, his words hanging in the air with a sense of impending danger.
"Boss," Kievskaya said, raising her hand. Hawthorne nodded and listened intently. "How do we know we're kidnapping a 'him' and not a 'her'?"
Hawthorne didn't take the bait. His expression remained stoic as he spoke. "Because no woman in her right mind would be involved with slave trading."
"That's a fair point," she replied.
"We'll go in in full stealth mode. Shimmer mode and everything," Hawthorne explained, moving on with the subject matter.
Jimmy perked up when he heard the words ‘shimmer mode.' It was one of the M-96 infiltration armor's key features. The active camouflage mode would render any stationary soldier virtually invisible. Although movement caused a blur or a shimmer, thus denoting the name of the mode, the suit was extremely stealthy.
"We go in after dark when we suspect the resistance is most active," the boss explained.
"Boss, are we expecting to go kinetic, or is this a cloak-and-dagger operation?" Todd McCarty asked.
"Good question, Ghost." Hawthorne used his call sign. "That's exactly it. If a shot is fired, then it means one of two things. First, it means the mission failed. Second, the mission was too successful, and we'll be presented with a target of opportunity we can't ignore."
"Got it, Boss," Ghost said.
Hawthorne explained the insertion plan, the movement to the objective, and their actions when they got into position. They would go in force, taking two separate dropships and landing five klicks away from the objective. From there, they'd move to the objective and form a perimeter around the target complex.
They would observe the facility and record any EM emissions in the area. The team would remain in place for no less than twelve to fourteen hours or until they extracted as much information as possible. Exfil would be on call, with dropships waiting on the tarmac back at Camp Foster for the call to come to pick up the team.
What caught Jimmy's attention was just how simply everyone made the mission sound.
"Seems like a walk in the park, boss. I like it," Mama said with a nod, her words starkly contrasting the mission's complexity.
"It's simple by design," Professor said, chiming in as the operational planner for the mission. "The more complex the op, then the more can go wrong."
Every aspect of the mission was gone over in tedious detail. Jimmy took studious notes but failed to see how he fell into the mission. Completing selection didn't make him an operator, and the high-level training he'd received from the team was minimal at best. Fighting against the fear of embarrassment, Jimmy raised his hand.
"Where do I come in?" Jimmy asked. "I doubt we'll be calling for indirect fire support on this mission."
"You'll be out there with us," Professor said plainly. "It's all hands on deck, so to speak. We have to cover every inch of the perimeter, so nothing goes in or out without us knowing about it."
"Understood. Thanks," Jimmy replied, feeling vindicated that his question didn't seem odd after he said it aloud.
"All right, folks," Hawthorne said. "Let's suit up and do a ROC drill."
Rehearsal of Concept drills were an ancient and effective planning tool. Once the briefing concluded and the troops geared up, they'd all perform a sort of dress rehearsal of each stage of the operation. Each operator would brief back to the commander their role in the mission. They stood around the miniature setup, using it as a reference as they briefed their part. This ensured the entire team knew the mission inside and out, while providing the commander with reassurance they were all on the same sheet of music.
After donning his newly modified M-96, Jimmy joined the others outside the briefing building. A detailed sand table, resembling a miniature battlefield, was set up. Each team leader meticulously briefed their part of the plan, ensuring everyone was fully prepared for the mission ahead.
Once satisfied, Hawthorne dismissed the team, sending them to the armory to prepare their weapons and magazines. While each team member had customized weapons, Jimmy elected to use a standard-issue pulse rifle. The rifle was no different than what a regular soldier would be issued, so it was what he was most familiar with.
The standard pulse rifle used liquid propellant instead of its ancestors' arcane gunpowder cartridges. The magazine was filled with rifle bullets, and when a round was rammed into the chamber, the gaseous propellant would be injected as well. The pressures involved triggered combustion like a diesel engine, sending the bullet down the rifled barrel at a high rate of speed.
Jimmy made sure to stuff ration packs into the cargo pouches of his armor, knowing it would be a while before he could enjoy another hot meal.
Once the troops were all equipped, it was time to board the dropships.
It was all happening so fast, and reality set in when the dropship ramp closed with Jimmy within. Jimmy was on a live mission for the first time in his short career. When the lighting in the cabin shifted to a dull red glow, the sound of the repulsor engines came to life, and the dropship took flight.
A voice came through the overhead speakers: "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. We've reached our cruising altitude of treetop level. You're all free to move about the cabin.”
"Top." Hawthorne used Master Sergeant Best's call sign. "Let's get these PCIs knocked out."
Best sounded off: "You heard the man, you inbred circus freaks! PCI's, let's go!"
The atmosphere was electric as the operators shot up from their bench seats and proceeded to check each other out. Boomer checked out Jimmy behind him for any loose gear or compartments not clasped shut. Meanwhile, Jimmy performed a function check of his weapon. He ensured the liquid propellant reservoir was full and the rifle would cycle properly.
Boomer tapped him on the top of the head as a sign he was done with his visual inspection. Now it was Jimmy's turn to check out Boomer. The forward observer scanned Boomer's back, looking for defects or improperly secured equipment. Finding nothing out of place, Jimmy tapped Boomer on the top of the head.
"Let me get a thumbs-up when your PCIs are complete, people," Top said.
Jimmy and Boomer offered a thumbs up, joining the rest of the team in the gesture.
"PCI's complete, boss!" Top called out.
"Good copy, Top. Thanks," Hawthorne replied.
The overhead speakers crackled to life once more. "Listen up, folks. ETA to LZ is two mikes."
"Stay frosty, people," Top sounded off. "Let's hope we don't get shot down this time."
Jimmy had more questions than answers. Shot down? How bad did the last mission go?
26
Mitchel Stafford's journey from a comms tech on a destroyer to a grunt in the resistance is a tale of stark contrasts. Once serving in a navy that no longer existed in his home world, his soldier's training in the resistance was limited, and his infantry skills were minimal at best.
But he could hold a rifle as well as anyone else could. The night sky was devoid of moonlight, and only the floodlights mounted outside the warehouse cut through the blackness. Wearing light armor and rags for fatigues, he leaned his flak cannon over his shoulder and approached the darkness just outside the range of the floodlights.
His guard shift was long and monotonous, made even more so by his partner's absence. As he answered nature's call, he found himself alone in the darkness, with only a tuft of grass and soil as his company. He unfastened his trousers and began urinating.
Getting pissed all over wasn't on Jimmy's bingo card, but he dared not budge. His stealth coating made him appear like a tuft of grass and soil and blended in seamlessly with the unkept grassy outcropping.
"Dude, is that guy pissing on you?" Boomer called out over the TACNET.
"Cut the chatter, Boomer," Hawthorne scolded. "Nomad, when that guard turns around, take him out quietly."
Jimmy's heart skipped a beat. He never suspected he would be the one chosen to take someone captive, but the would-be captive chose him in the first place.
Steam rose from damp urine that trickled off Jimmy's armor, but he had more pressing things to focus on. The resistance soldier spun about as he fastened his trousers and strolled back toward the building. Jimmy pulled out his nano module, thumbed the setting for "immobility," and then skulked behind the target.
He remembered his knife drill, but the nano module would be the weapon of choice. Jimmy's nerves piqued, and his world was in slow motion. The adrenaline coursed through his veins like a freight train as he closed to within striking distance of the guard.
The impulse to move took over Jimmy's awareness, and without thinking, he grabbed the soldier's forehead, jerked it back, and planted the nano module against his throat. With a thumb pressing down firmly, the needle shot out, rendering the man unconscious.
Jimmy caught the man before he fell, dragging him to the shadows. No training could have prepared Jimmy to do what he'd just done. He just did what he was told in the most efficient way he could think of.
And prevailed.
"Nice work, Nomad," Hawthorne said. It wasrare praise.
"Thanks, Boss," Jimmy replied as he dragged the drugged soldier into the shadows. Inwardly, his mind laser-focused on what was right in front of him. His adrenaline made him hyperaware of everything around him. It was surreal, and a tinge disturbing.
"Boomer, order the drone to drop a motion sensor on the roof of that building. We'll let it collect data for a few minutes before we exfiltrate," Hawthorne ordered.
"Roger, Boss," Boomer replied.
Meanwhile, Jimmy tightened the wrist and ankle restraints on the unconscious prisoner. He then took a knee and scanned the horizon for threats through his pulse rifle's optics. Heat signatures with friendly transponder signals dotted the landscape as the team fully encircled the building.
The drone glided silently to the rooftop of the building, depositing its pancake-shaped sensor package on the peak. Now, it was simply a matter of collecting data and waiting.
Jimmy checked the fallen soldier's pulse and breathing. He was still alive but deeply unconscious. Jimmy’s suit still smelled of urine, but it couldn't be helped. The best he could hope for was for there to be a natural water source between here and the extraction point where he could rinse off.
"Boss, we've got explosive residue detected inside the building. If it's not a hub for human smuggling, it may very well be a weapons cache," Boomer reported.
"That changes the calculus," Hawthorne declared. "Nomad, keep the prisoner secured. Everyone else, we go kinetic. The objective is to clear this building and secure anything inside."
Jimmy sent an acknowledgment ping to the commander's neural interface as waves of relief washed over him. He was glad to sit this one out and keep the captive secure. Ever conscious of his lack of training compared to the others, he was glad to let the professionals handle business.
And impressively, they did. The operators silently swarmed the building from all angles, leaving no approach unchecked. Silent shadows menacingly lurked from the darkness, stacking up near the entrance door, their weapons at the ready.
The operators were ready. They silently swarmed the building from all angles, leaving no approach unchecked. Silent shadows menacingly lurked from the darkness, stacking up near the entrance door, their weapons at the ready.
"Wraith, nano cloud, now," Hawthorne ordered, using Kievskaya's call sign.
"Affirmative," she replied, producing a nano module and thumbing the switch. Billions of floating bots surged into the door seams, transmitting EM and thermal data to Kievskaya's personal HUD. She then shared her HUD with the others via her suit's command and control suite.
Jimmy watched the feed populate in his personal HUD from a distance. Four red blobs appeared overlaid on his natural vision. The building was occupied, after all, and Jimmy had a front-row seat for the action that followed.
"Havoc, do the honors," Hawthorne ordered Staff Sergeant Smith. Havoc produced a stun grenade and nodded to Kievskaya.When she opened the door, he tossed the grenade inside.
Boom.
The team rushed in.
Boomer pushed through the door, his heavy M-7 Commando rifle sweeping the room, checking his designated corners for threats. His attention was immediately drawn toward a cowering man grasping his ears in discomfort. The heavy rifle stock struck the man's head, knocking him out cold. This was a high-stakes mission, and Boomer knew he had to act fast to secure the area.
"Clear!" he called out to the others across the room. The room appeared to be some sort of supply closet. Shelves with miscellaneous items lined the walls. The objects on the shelves were mundane cleansers, towels, and other standard supplies that any facility would keep in stock.
There was an interior door leading elsewhere deeper into the building. Hawthorne gave a hand signal for everyone to stack back up again to repeat the process. However, someone on the other side must have gotten curious.
