BattleMaster (The BattleMaster Corps Book 1) Page 5

  She sighed. “Right you are. It’s more than the alliance. It doesn’t take a PR expert to see that the public’s tolerance for this conflict is waning. We need to show real progress soon or the political winds will be too strong for us to continue. Even if there’s no Euro-Chinese coalition, we may have no choice but to forfeit New Calcutta.”

  “Then everything we’ve fought for will have been for nothing.” He balled his fists.

  “Exactly, which is why that’s not an option. That’s why you have to succeed, Kyle. Failure is not an option.”

  His spine stiffened. “I won’t let you down.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “I know you won’t. Before you go, would you like to take a walk with me?”

  Kyle looked up with wide eyes. “Outside?” He yearned to get her out of her self-imposed dungeon. Maybe the light of a real sun would spark something natural, something primal within her. Her life had become far too synthetic. That worried him.

  Samantha shook her head. “No, I mean in simulation. We can go anywhere. It’ll be secure and better than any actual reality.”

  Kyle choked down. For God’s sake! Experience something real for once! Have you forgotten everything about actual reality? Have you forgotten how to feel?

  She touched his arm and looked at him with doe eyes. “Please.”

  His anger melted away. He saw she was in pain, even if she didn’t fully understand it herself. “Okay.” Maybe even some fake nature can help. Anything is better than this dreary prison. “Where would you like to go?”

  Chapter Six

  It was a beautiful calm night. A cool breeze brought invigorating air over the rolling hills. Kyle sucked in a deep breath and held it as he examined the terrain ahead. The twin moons of New Calcutta hung high overhead, casting the landscape in a gray glow. He would’ve preferred a moonless night to launch the grand offensive, but those were rare on this world.

  Liberty has three moons. Charlemagne has four and Huang two. Old Earth has just one. I wonder what’s happening on the home world? It’s been decades since we received a message.

  Kyle shook his head. Get your head back in the game. Everyone is counting on you. He turned to his aide, Captain Luke Lynchburg. The young man’s black skin blended seamlessly with his uniform, which had shifted to dark to blend into the night. The chameleon fabric changed to match the surrounding environment with general camouflage patterns.

  “Everything in position, captain?”

  Luke consulted his tablet. “All units report ready to commence attack, sir.”

  “Excellent.” Kyle returned his gaze to the battlefield. The order was caught in his throat. The stakes were high, and once it began, a mountain of pressure would descend upon him. Part of him wanted to run away from it but he was a general in the American Army and wouldn’t fold in the face of a challenge. This is my moment. “Fortune favors the bold.”

  “What did you say, sir?” Luke stepped closer.

  “Attack, captain. All units are to attack.” Kyle straightened his stance.

  “Yes, sir.” A bright smile appeared on the aide’s face.

  I pray I don’t let you down, captain. Kyle ripped his eyes from the hills and marched toward his mobile command unit, a collection of APCs and trucks. I pray I don’t let any of them down.

  ***

  Stanner’s legs churned, chewing up the distance at a rapid rate to stay a step ahead of the mini-tanks. The sky above roared. He glanced up to see squadron after squadron of triangular drones swooping down to lay waste to the hills in front. A weak air defense of antiaircraft fire and lasers fought back. A team of eight Euro aerial drones engaged but were swept aside by the onslaught.

  Flames sprouted and rolled like a cresting wave on the slope. They wiped away the first line of defenders as easily as a man swats a fly.

  Darting into a rock formation with Olsen at his side, Stanner searched the nooks and corners for hidden soldiers. It would have been a perfect place to install heavy weaponry to surprise attacking drones.

  They jumped around with little regard for their own safety. There wasn’t time to do the recon right. Speed and the survival of the drones were what would decide the day. The lives of a few grunts really didn’t matter. If one of them went down in the rock formation, then the BattleMaster would know to expend valuable munitions to neutralize the area.

  Stanner whipped around the last spike of stone. “Clear!”

  Olsen appeared twenty yards to his left as three others from his platoon emerged. A chorus of “Clear,” filled the com-link.

  The rattle of tank treads accelerating bounced off the hard surfaces.

  Sergeant Veech ran around ahead of the armor. “Go! Go! Go!” He waved at them. “Get to the top of that hill.”

  Stanner turned and charged headlong up the smoldering hill. He sucked in air and coughed out smoke. He pressed on undaunted, smacking his lips to get the burnt taste out of his mouth. The PT and drug therapy had turned him into a machine. A machine with one mission, to protect the BattleMasters and their minions.

  Not dying would also be good.

  ***

  C’mon, you damn apes. Reba ground her teeth and her eyes popped open. She punched the side of her foxhole, causing a clump of soil to fall off the edge. A member of her personal guard glanced at her but she ignored him, keeping her blank stare squarely on the valley below.

  Faster! Run faster! She opened a com-link with the lead platoon commander. “Lieutenant Hart, get your grunts moving. We’re going too slow.”

  “My men are going as fast as they can, sir. We’re running reckless as it is. Any faster and we’ll be in a dead sprint right into enemy fire.”

  “Speed is critical for my tank bots, and they’re more important than your entire platoon.” She focused on the four windows in her head feeding data from the mini-tanks and ordered them to accelerate. They were nipping at the heels of the infantry. “Faster or I’ll run grunts over. At least they’ll grease my tracks then.”

  The apes got the hint and sped up.

  Her swifter tank bots broke into two groups to circle around the hill. Their twin fifty-calibers poured fire on the hilltops. The heavier spider bots charged straight ahead, navigating the pitted terrain with their six legs like a ballerina dancing across the stage. The ball laser turrets swept the ridge line in a choreographed light show of red streaks. A smattering of thwmoop, thwmoop signaled the release of mortars deeper into the enemy position.

  I need to save my expendables. Can’t afford to stop for a resupply when we get these Euro bastards on the run.

  A rocket trail zipped from the hilltop. White smoke drew a line to the lead spider. She reacted, bending its front legs so the projectile impacted the thick armor on the top at an angle. The RPG impacted the armor and detonated. Shrapnel deflected off, some finding the knee joint of the right mid-appendage.

  “Shit!” Alarms sounded in Reba’s mind.

  In a blink of an eye, three spider bots and two mini-tanks targeted the source of the attack and unleashed a storm of rockets, smart-bullets, lasers, and mortars. A thirty-yard radius around the RPG’s launch point exploded.

  The attack renewed as data from the damaged unit streamed in. Precious hydraulic fluid leaked onto the ground, rendering the leg useless.

  Beautiful, just fucking beautiful. “Get your men onto that damned hill, lieutenant!” She tightened her fists. “I’m covering you with as much as I can give. Grow some balls and do your job.”

  Reba cut the com-link before Hart could reply.

  Her wounded bot limped forward. The tortured metal on metal screech of its wrecked joint cut into her, twisting her guts. A lone tear escaped her closed eyelids and ran down her clinched cheeks.

  ***

  “Bogies inbound!” the warning blared in Stephanie’s head.

  She saw the enemy craft on high speed intercept through a window in her mind’s eye. Forty red icons mushed into a single blob of approaching doom. They were hundreds of mi
les out but came on at Mach four.

  It was a death charge. There were one hundred and fifty friendlies above this wing of the offensive. Her squadron was one of fifteen assigned to ensure local air superiority. Their drones were outfitted with additional air-to-air missiles.

  “Should we engage, colonel?” Major Jane Stein asked over the unit com-link.

  Stephanie opened her eyes to stare at the colonel who happened to be in the same foxhole. She still had her lids squeezed tight and shook her head. “No. Those fighters are coming in from their alert reserves. Their controllers are far from here and the further away they are, the greater the ping.”

  The ping was the delay between a sent command and action by the combat unit. This was one of the reasons BattleMasters were deployed dangerously close to the front. Signal line-of-sight was another factor, as it was impossible to keep a satellite in orbit to relay commands around the planet’s curvature. Close proximity along with signal strength boosters and constantly changing encryptions and frequencies prevented jamming.

  Commands traveled at the speed of light, but it still took time for them to go an extra hundred miles. Those delays compounded over the course of an aerial battle, where micro-seconds counted, into a real advantage.

  Stephanie’s focus zeroed in on the advancing red icons as her own craft gained velocity in a giant circle flight path. Her heart beat faster the closer the enemy armada came. How close are we going to let them get? We can’t let them attack the ground forces. They’re counting on us to cover them.

  “Engage!” rang unit wide.

  Power flowed into her gravity repellers. The virtual sensation pushed her back. The colonel used her command overrides to launch a pre-arranged missile volley. A hundred and fifty rocket trails zoomed ahead. In reply, the enemy emptied their entire complement of air-to-airs, sending one hundred and sixty directly for the Americans.

  “Crap!” Stephanie wrung her hands.

  As one, her ten units dodged right, left, up. and down, executing evasive maneuvers at literally breakneck speeds. A human pilot couldn’t survive the gees required for modern dogfights.

  Clouds illuminated by the soft light of the moons whipped over her consciousness. Adrenaline flooded her blood. She felt free and so alive. It was almost enjoyable for a moment.

  Three warnings flashed in her head. Missile locks!

  She gritted her teeth and rallied to defend her endangered craft. The marked targets slowed, allowing their comrades to overtake them. In unison, all ten dumped chaff and broke off in five different directions.

  She held her breath. Did it work?

  The instruments of destruction barreled into the mist of metallic fragments and transmitters designed to mimic the signature of an American military drone.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Goosebumps sprouted across Stephanie’s skin as the shockwaves nipped at her fighter’s tails. The sky was filled with chaff, missiles and drones dancing wildly. She’d made it through the first round unharmed. Vanishing icons showed that wasn’t the case for other drones. Releasing a lungful of air, she retrained her attention to the attack.

  Both sides closed, spraying red laser streaks ahead of their charge. The long range fire did little to either force. There would be no cheap victory. They’d have to mix together and finish it the old fashioned way.

  They blended at Mach One, each side bleeding off raw speed in favor of maneuverability. Stephanie’s five teams of two banked hard right, continuing to close. She got her first up-close look of a Euro fighter. They were flying wings, miniature versions of the B-2 Bombers she’d read about in military history courses.

  The black craft had a demonic look to them that sent a chill up her spine. Weapons range was fast approaching. We have to stop them. More must be on their way. If they get past us, they’ll drop bombs on the infantry. A mental picture of her father corrupted her thoughts. The air burst alive with light and fire.

  Her drones remained silent.

  “Hotshot,” the colonel’s voice crackled in her head, “fire! Evasive action!”

  Two of her fighters were struck by lasers and exploded a second later like fireworks. Their feeds blinked out in her mind as the others showed her images of the colorful display of their comrades’ deaths.

  Her upper body lunged forward. A pain emanated from her back shoulder. She knew what had happened. The colonel had hit her, trying to snap her out of it.

  It worked.

  Stephanie squeezed her eyelids shut and trained her mind on the remaining eight units under her command. Erratic action got them out of immediate danger. She sucked in a breath and clinched her fists. Let’s do this.

  Targeting software linked with the other BattleMasters ranked her priorities. By default, they were chosen in order of position to her. This helped ensure an efficient application of force.

  She locked on her objectives. Diving, climbing, banking left and right, the enemy tried to shake her, but it didn’t matter. Stephanie’s mind was now clear and her drones matched the targets’ sluggish movements flawlessly, closing with each turn.

  The mental effort was extreme. She lost all sensation of her physical form, dividing her consciousness between her four teams. Random fire clipped one of her engines, spinning the craft out of control. The feed cut off, but she didn’t lose focus.

  The first enemy fell to well-placed laser shots that blew off a third of its right side. Redirecting the successful drones to the remaining targets allowed her to box another bogie in, destroying it with merciless long-range crossing fields of fire. She repeated the process to take down several more enemy craft.

  She exhaled, thinking it felt like the first time since the colonel hit her. That wasn’t the case, though. Her body’s automatic systems kept her alive during the out of body experience. She did feel around her crotch, though. Sometimes BattleMasters got so absorbed in combat that they lost control of their bladders, or worse.

  Thank God I didn’t piss myself in front of the colonel.

  Stephanie checked her target list. Empty?

  She heard the colonel clap her hands and stand. “All clear. Good work, everyone. We took them out and suffered fewer causalities than projected. I’m dividing us into two groups. One will remain on station while the other returns to base to rearm. This offensive has just begun, so stay sharp and don’t get cocky.”

  Her foxhole was full of smiles and high-fives. Stephanie wasn’t one of them. She was still deep in her own head. I almost lost it there. That can’t happen again. She dug her nails into her palms. I’m going to get good men killed if I don’t keep it under control, and I can’t let that happen.

  ***

  A wave of relief washed over Kyle as he studied his display. His stomach returned to its proper place as the sweat dried on his brow. Reports of success came in from both wings of the offensive. They’d achieved the element of surprise, and a stream of ground drones poured into the enemy’s rear. Hundreds more circled overhead, swooping down from time to time to harass the fleeing Euros.

  Something was off, though. It had been too easy.

  Where the hell is the Euro armor?

  Chapter Seven

  Stanner came to a stop near a cluster of trees. He gasped for air and his rubbery legs gave out, sending him to his knees. He slipped his pack off during a controlled collapse that brought him down onto his back, his chest heaving. Olsen staggered toward him with a blank stare and sat next to him. The platoon hit the ground all around. Except for sucking wind, the two remained silent for several minutes.

  It had been two days since the breakout. The two wings of the offensive had again divided into two. The new branches curved inward to encircle a block of Euro forces. Stanner’s unit was a part of the deep thrust plan. Fifty-two hours, two days on New Calcutta, of running had carried them ninety klicks into the enemy rear. Almost nothing stood in their way in any direction.

  Warfare in the Eden System was far different from the descriptions in the history books of
the vast armies the nations of Earth had fielded. The population and industry to deploy and support such hordes simply didn’t exist here. All Liberty could manage was an army of fifteen thousand on New Calcutta. The other powers were in similar situations.

  Not much to wage war for an entire planet.

  This meant that once Stanner’s unit was free of the main Euro lines, they could head in any direction to wreck havoc. The enemy was mobile as well, but superior American air power had laid claim to the sky, which greatly restricted enemy freedom of movement.

  That didn’t matter to Stanner now, though. He didn’t have the energy to go anywhere.

  Olsen coughed and sat up to take his boots off. “I hope we’re done running for a bit.”

  “I pray you’re right, but I’m sure we’re just getting started.” Stanner sucked on a long rubber tube connected to a filtration bag on his hip. The system reprocessed liquid waste for consumption. It was warm and had a bitter aftertaste he didn’t like to think about, but it kept him hydrated and reduced the amount of fresh water they had to carry.

  “Where do you think they are?” Olsen looked over his shoulder as if the enemy might be sneaking up on him.

  “Relax, man. The captain wouldn’t have stopped here if it wasn’t safe.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Olsen gripped his straw with his lips, eyes shifting along the horizon. “Did you hear Wilson and McPeak didn’t make it?”

  He nodded. “Nice guys, especially Wilson.”

  Corporal Wilson was the first to greet me when I got to the platoon. Helped me get squared away when I was too scared to know my ass from the floor. Now he’s gone. Here one second, gone the next.

  Olsen pointed at Stanner’s wrist computer. “That’s been blinking green since we left base. It’s a personal message. Why haven’t you checked it?”

  He shrugged. “It’s probably my mom calling to tell my dad found a way to get me in graduate school despite my shitty grades. Really don’t feel like dealing with it.”