The Terran Mandate (2 page)

Attack

Colonel Ben Dekker stood next to a
bunker on the MEF compound perimeter and surveyed the Highlands with his field
glasses. Just 500 meters in front of him, the fertile ground covered with
patches of grass and weeds that were actually green sloped up towards a small
rise, behind which a full brigade of the Terran Guard was waiting for him and the
rest of the MEF. He cringed as his eyes swept the last arable ground on
Shoahn'Tu within reach of the MEF. He had fought here before and he had an old
debt to repay.

He lowered his field glasses and studied
the bunkers where his weapons company had deployed their heavy machine guns and
mortars. He tapped a small button on the headset nestled just under his helmet.
"Weapons." After a soft chime sounded, he said,  "Whiskey Six,
Enforcer Six Actual. Are you all set up there Captain?"

His headset crackled with a faint hiss
and then a click. "Enforcer Six, we're all set except for one of the
plasma guns. We're putting in another fifty instead."

"Smoker?" Dekker Asked.

"Yes sir. We still have powder
rounds and I figured today was a good day to use them."

"We need you to keep them pinned
down as long as you can, Captain."

"Roger that, sir. We've got our
fields of fire out to 1000 meters along a 500 meter line in five sectors. We've
got you covered, sir."

"I know you do, Captain. Stand by
for the signal. Enforcer Six out. Battle net." Another chime sounded.
"Enforcer Six, all Enforcer stations, com check."

"Alpha Six, five oh."

"Bravo Six, five by five."

"Charlie Six, reading lima
charlie."

Colonel Dekker let out a slow breath as
he inspected the line one last time. His Marines were trained, prepared and
motivated. All that was left was the battle. He knew that if a bullet ripped
into his forehead at that moment, his battalion would carry out their mission
just as well without him.

He tapped the headset again and said,
"Command radio." After the chime, he continued, "Marine Six,
Enforcer Six Actual."

The voice of General Lane came back over
the line. "Marine Six Actual, go ahead."

"Enforcer battalion is ready sir.
The boys are fired up and ready to shoot."

"Understood. I'm tying you into the
group net now." Dekker heard a squeal of static and then the voice of
Colonel Mason confirming last minute adjustments in his formation as they
prepared to move off the line of departure. When he was finished, General Lane
said, "Badger Six, report."

Lt. Simmons, her soft voice crisp and
precise, replied, "Marine Six, we don't have any updates for you sir.
We'll conduct a recon in force on the right and set up a patrol to monitor the
Guards' lines of communication."

"Understood," Lane said.
"Stand by for my signal. Break. Two Bravo Delta, report."

Dekker couldn't help feeling a dull stab
of remorse when Major Walker's voice filled his headset. "Right behind you
General. We're all set here, just say the word."

"Remember, Major, you are a
contingent. Stay put unless I give you the word. Hopefully all you'll have to
do today is watch."

"Roger that, General. Can't say we
like watching, but I'll keep the reins tight."

"You do that. Marines, stand by for
attack. Marine Six out."

Dekker's headset hissed and then went
silent. There was nothing left to say. The air grew still as he waited for the
signal for the fight to begin. A low chime sounded in his headset, a final
warning and the last chance for any of the battalion commanders to report any
last minute problems. Nobody said a word. After five seconds of dead silence,
an electronic chime sounded five times, followed by a final one-second dual
modulated frequency tone that told him and everyone in the MEF to start moving.
His men, stretched out in a line a half-mile wide, stood up and started walking
into the Highlands. At the same time, the air filled with the chattering roar
of machine guns and the steel ring of rounds leaving their mortar tubes.

A voice spiked with urgency called out
over the radio. "Flash! Infantry company strength 1000 meters front. Four
tangos behind another 500. Engaging." The transmission cut off. A moment
later, he heard the crack of rifle fire and the eerie pulse of plasma rounds
searing the air as they flew into the face of the enemy already advancing on
them from the crest of the Highlands.

Jommy

Emmet Ford felt his bones creak as he
stood up. He was scanning the withering plants of his plot when the sound of
battle rolled in like a wall of thunder - just far enough away that he knew
they were still safe, but close enough that there was no way to tell for how
long. His son stood on a mound overlooking the valley of the Military Exclusion
Zone and watched the battle.

"Jommy", he called out.
"Get down off a' there and come help me." The boy ignored him. The
man grunted and let out a long sigh, then ambled across his plot to join his
son. The crack of small arms fire floated past them as Marines trundled across
the flat ground between their compound and the fertile grounds of the
Highlands. A sudden flash erupted at top of the Highlands, its thunder rolling
over them moments later. The Marines lurched forward in loose lines as they
advanced against the Terran Guard. Vehicles followed behind them, but there
weren't as many as there used to be. The years of wind and sand had scraped
most of their markings off so they couldn't tell which units they belonged to
anymore.

Just as the Marines reached the
Highlands, the crest at the top of its long slope seemed to come alive as a
wave of Terran Guards emerged from behind the other side.

"Oh God," Emmet said. He
clasped Jommy's hand, hoping the boy wouldn't understand what he was seeing,
knowing that he couldn't hide it from him, either. The Terran Line looked like
a long black snake that stretched all the way across the expanse of the
Highlands. Their weapons didn't produce any smoke or flash, but Emmet knew they
had fired a furious fusillade when Marines started falling to the ground while
the rest dropped down to hug the ground. Puffs of smoke shot out from where the
Marines were lying down as they fired back, but the black snake inched forward,
flowing down the slope of the Highlands like the headwaters of an oozing flood.

"Why don't they use the Cats?"
Jommy asked, pointing at Major Walker's company of twelve robotic war machines
standing quietly in the MEF compound. Formally designated as the C-2B Combined
Advanced Technology Enhanced Fire and Maneuver Assembly, the Cataphract stood
fifty feet above the ground, glistening with black paint and the outline of a
lance stenciled underneath its cockpit perched on top. Each one carried two
massive plasma cannons and two rotary guns that fired 120 mm steel bolts from a
belt feed. Armor plating covered virtually every surface to protect the
titanium skeleton and the complex of gyros, hydraulics, compressed air and computer
systems that the pilot used to maneuver the behemoth and bring its weapons to
bear. For the moment, they didn't move, as if they were watching the battle -
spectators like him and his boy, waiting to see how it came out. Emmet
shuddered as more Marines flopped over while the snake advanced steadily
towards them.

He jerked back when a bright flash
erupted on the near side of the Marine line, followed by a billowing orange
ball of fire. Tanks crested the top of the Highlands on either side of the
Terran line and fired into the vehicles the Marines had deployed to either side
of their line.

Emmet turned away from the battle and
surveyed the other plots that populated the dry land of their last reserve - a
place they simply called Dirt Hill. The plastic modular huts that looked like
freight containers cast shadows over withering plants as the Shoahn' sun rose
over the morning horizon. Another peal of thunder rolled over him from the
valley below.

He couldn't help wondering how long it
would be before the tanks were up on Dirt Hill ripping their huts from the
ground. He closed his eyes and whispered:

"That they shall not perish."

Dekker's Charge

The hum of electric coils from magnetic
rail guns filled the air. A Lance Corporal poked his head up and sighted a line
of four Terran Guard soldiers kneeling in a tight line as they swept his fire
team with a steady stream of steel slugs cracking the air just inches above
their heads. Pinned down, the Marines fired back blindly, desperately trying to
establish fire superiority.

"God dammit, we're supposed to be
suppressing them," he shouted. "Four left 100 meters watch for my
marker." He swung his plasma rifle towards the enemy troops and fired. The
chamber of compressed thermite plasma hit one of the Terran Guards square in
the chest and incinerated the man in a blinding blue flash. "Right there,
right there!" the Lance Corporal screamed. The other three Marines in his
fire team raised up on one knee and leveled their rifles at the targets. Unlike
the Lance Corporal, they fought back with technology that had proven effective
for centuries: gun powder, lead and brass. The fire team collectively took a
breath and held it before squeezing off their rounds. The Terran Guards lurched
back as bullets tore through their chests in a burst of bone and blood. The
Lance Corporal quickly scanned the line. "There's a gap. Move it -"

Before he could finish his command, a
magnetic mortar round landed just behind his foot, ejecting its casing to
unleash a flurry of shrapnel that cut down the riflemen just as they started to
run. Twenty meters away, the squad sergeant waved his arm and yelled,
"Close it up! Close up the line!" Marines shuffled into position
where the mortar had landed, stretching out the distance between the squad's
two remaining fire teams. They reflexively hugged the ground behind the meager
defilade offered by the Highlands as more steel slugs peppered the ground
around them. They dug at the ground with their boots and ground their bodies
into the dirt to try and dig even an inch deeper.

The squad sergeant tapped his headset
and yelled, "Weapons!" After a brief pause, he continued,
"Whiskey Fox, Bravo One Sierra, immediate suppression, phase line Victor
plus one zero zero, left two zero, infantry danger close, fire for effect when
ready." After making his call for fire, all the sergeant could hear was a
squeal in his headset as more calls poured in over the weapons net for fire
support.

The squeal cut off. "Whiskey Six,
all stations, keep this net clear. Fire plan is tango uniform. Ping your
targets, we'll get to you in proximity order. Out."

The sergeant rolled onto his back,
keeping his body flat against the ground. He gulped harder for each breath as
an endless stream of slugs shredded the air inches from his face. Looking down
the line at both fire teams, he saw his men covering their heads as they
flattened themselves against the ground behind the soft rolls of defilade
between them and the enemy. "Hang in there fellas!" he shouted
between breaths. "Just give me a second." He grunted and pulled open
the flap to one of the bags slung over his shoulder and pulled out a plastic
grip. He flipped up a small monitor on top which showed the ground at his feet.
If he could point the thing over the lip of defilade, he could lay the
crosshairs on the troops who had his Marines pinned to the ground. If he could
do that, he could pull the trigger and fire a beacon dart that the weapons
company could home in on with their mortars. The sergeant ran through the
sequence in his head. Pop up. Point. Designate. In the time it would take to do
all that, he saw himself getting shot at least twice. The rage of steel tearing
at the space above him slowed down. Maybe they were reloading?   He peeked over
the defilade, swung the spotter gun up, pointed it in the general direction of
where he thought the enemy was and squeezed the trigger. He didn't take the
time to lay the crosshairs and he sure as hell didn't take the time to watch
the dart arc out and hit the ground. He ducked back down just as more slugs
chewed at the ground in front of him.

The sergeant watched his fire teams as
they continued to squirm, trying to press themselves ever deeper into the
ground as the enemy fire intensified. He knew that if they were pinned down
much longer, some of his Marines would suddenly find that fatalistic place in
their mind where danger no longer existed and compelled them to get up and run
straight for the enemy. Others would do just the opposite, cowering as fear
overwhelmed them and promised death around every corner. "Come on, come
on," he said through gritted teeth.

The ground 150 meters to his front
exploded as friendly mortar rounds tracked in to his marker. "That's it
boys, return fire!"

His Marines poked their rifles over the
defilade, straining to site targets through the dust and smoke left behind by
the mortar round. Just as they leveled their weapons on the hazy outline of
troops hidden behind the veil of smoke, more steel slugs cracked through the
air. A Marine lurched back as a slug slammed into his face. Another dropped his
weapon when a slug tore his arm away at the shoulder. He fell back, screaming, 
while the other two Marines in his fire team flopped to the ground behind their
defilade. "Corpsman!" one of them yelled.

A corpsman who had been huddling behind
the main formation crawled up to the screaming Marine and pulled a recovery kit
from the small pack slung on his back. The Marine looked at him with eyes wide
and stopped screaming long enough to grab the corpsman's arm and say,
"No!"

The corpsman slapped the Marine's arm
aside and slammed the kit onto his chest. "Not up to you, Marine." He
unhooked a red handle with a squeeze trigger from the kit and strung out the
attached wire. He scampered back a few feet and squeezed the trigger. A thin haze
of orange light spread out from the kit and over the Marine's body. It's glow
intensified and then flashed away. The Marine was gone.

The sergeant grabbed the boom of his
headset mic and yelled, "One Six, Second Squad is pinned down by Gauss and
mortars. We are displacing left. First team down. Enemy platoon strength, front
50." He flailed his arm and yelled at the remaining men in his squad.
"Move it down, move it down!" He grabbed the nearest Marine and
shoved him down the line. "Move!"

As the remaining Marines in his squad
scampered behind the low ridge of defilade, the chatter of a heavy machine gun
filled the air behind him. He peeked over the defilade to see friendly rounds
peppering the ground 50 meters to their front. The smoke from the mortar round
had cleared enough that he could see there were no targets anywhere near where
it had landed. The bullets dug into the ground and kicked up clumps of dirt and
patches of dried grass, but did nothing to push back the enemy he could not
find.

"Troops left!" somebody
screamed. He turned to see a squad of twelve Terran Guards bearing down on
their left flank. As the hum of their rail guns spooled up, he leveled his
rifle on the nearest one and pulled the trigger. The enemy soldier lurched back
as his chest imploded. The sergeant pulled the trigger again and heard nothing
but a click. The Marines closest to the advancing squad reeled back as steel
slugs ripped into them in a hail of enfilading fire.

"Ah hell," he said. He ripped
the magazine from his rifle and grabbed a fresh magazine from a pouch on his
belt and shoved it into the action. The enemy squad riddled the last Marine in
his squad with slugs as he shouldered his weapon and took aim. He pulled the
trigger, sending one of them flying back. Aiming for the next target, he took a
breath just as a steel slug slammed into his face.

Dekker's gut tightened as Terran Guard
troops spilled in behind his men and split his battalion's line into two
sections. The enemy was already forming skirmish lines to work the shoulders of
the breach while his own men fell back, firing as they retreated back towards
the line of departure. His Marines ran across the flat ground between the
Highlands and the perimeter bunkers, with nothing to protect them against the
troops kneeling in a firing line and angling their weapons at their backs.
Dekker couldn't tell when the Guard troops fired - their weapons only made a
faint clacking noise when the electromagnetic rails slung their rounds through
the barrel. It was only when his Marines started to pitch forward and fall to
the ground with their faces in the dirt that he knew for sure they were firing.
One group continued to push back the flanks of his troops still fighting to
hold the Highlands, pitching their bodies aside with a grinding hail of
enfilade fire. The other group mowed down those trying to flee across the
flats. Some made it to the bunkers, but most were either lying still or clawing
at the ground, dragging themselves through their own blood even as more slugs
chewed at the ground around them.

Dekker unslung the plasma rifle from his
shoulder and extended the bipod latched to the barrel. He flopped to the ground
and shouldered the weapon. An enemy soldier was gunning down one of his fire
teams struggling to reset its own skirmish line on the flat ground between
Dekker and the Highlands. He pulled the trigger. The plasma bolt streaked
through the air and consumed the soldier with a flash of blue flame. The enemy
soldier next to him looked at Dekker and the ground spat up a chunk of dried
clay next to Dekker's boot. He pulled the slide bolt on the receiver to chamber
another thermite plasma cartridge. He adjusted his aim and squeezed the trigger
as another steel slug dug into the ground inches from his other boot. The
second target burst into flame.

Just as he reached up to pull the bolt
back again, a hand gripped his shoulder. He looked over his shoulder to see
Captain Brandt glaring at him. "What the fuck are you doing, sir?"

"I'm engaging the enemy, what are
you doing?" Dekker wrested his shoulder free and reached for the bolt.
Captain Brandt put both hands on Dekker's shoulders and pulled him to his feet.
The next slug ricocheted off the ground next to the plasma rifle. Captain
Brandt grabbed the weapon and pulled Dekker along as he ran back towards the
bunkers of the assembly area. "We're running the wrong way you know!"
Dekker shouted.

"Yeah. Do it faster!" Brandt
yelled back. Slugs peppered the ground at their fee as they ran for the nearest
bunker. More slugs snapped through the air above them as they hopped into the
bunker and crouched down behind its concrete berm.

Dekker yanked the plasma rifle from
Brandt and set it on the berm. He pulled back the bolt and fired at a group of
Terran Guards gunning down another fire team that had fallen back to the flat
ground. The round impacted just in front of the enemy, causing them to displace
and reset their aim. Dekker pulled the bolt back to chamber the last plasma
cartridge. He took a breath and held it. His last round flew across the ground
and slammed into an enemy soldier's leg. He heard a woman's shriek as she spun
and fell on her back with blue flames wrapping around her body. He squeezed his
eyes shut and looked away.

Dekker tapped his headset and said,
"Command Radio." Even before the confirmation chimed in, he started
talking. "Marine Six Enforcer Six Actual. Where are the other
battalions?"

"As you were Colonel. First and
Third are working into position. Resistance is stronger than expected. They'll
get there."

"Marine Six, we're losing the line.
If they're going to do something about it, they need to do it now."

"You hold that line, Colonel. The
rest are coming. Marine Six out."

Dekker switched to his battalion net.
"Whiskey Six, Enforcer Six, over."

"Whiskey Six, go boss."

"Captain, what's the status on your
fire mission?"

"Sir, we're spread a little thin
here. I've got a gun team for each company on the line, but everything's
tangled up over there."

"What about your mortars?"

"Not unless we want to start
killing our own, sir. We're working what we can in the Terran back line, but
most of them are up on top of our guys. We're not doing much good."

"Alright Captain. Tell your
mortarmen to pick up a rifle and join up with your assault squad. I need you
guys to plug that hole in the middle."

"Yes sir."

"Six out."

Dekker reached into a large case
strapped to his belt and pulled out his field glasses. He swept the entire line
of battle from the far left of the First Battalion to the far right of the
Third. He then fixed his gaze on his own battalion as the Marines from his
weapons company moved up to join the fray. As he watched his men struggling to
establish a line against the onslaught of the Terran Guard, his headset
crackled with Lt. Simmons's voice.

"All stations, flash! Enemy forces
crossing phase line Mecca. Infantry and tangos."

General Lane's voice cut in. "How
many, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, they've brought their entire
Second Brigade on line."

Static filled Dekker's headset as they
waited for General Lane to respond. Mortarmen from Dekker's weapons platoon
dropped to the ground and opened fire with their carbines against the advancing
infantry pushing their comrades onto the flats. Smaller than the R-51 the
infantry companies used, the carbines had a shorter barrel and fired a smaller
caliber round. By comparison, they looked and sounded like toy guns. Dekker
wanted to look away, but forced himself to watch as the mortarmen offered up a
pathetic hail of small caliber fire that managed to slow some of the advancing
Terran Guard troops. But the distance between the Highlands and the safety of
the bunkers continued to be counted by the bodies of riflemen falling to enemy
fire as they ran across the flats.