Chapter Text
A low fog had rolled off the bay, blanketing the ruined capitol in a funerary veil. The command vehicle's IR sensors penetrated it easily, but it still set an eerie mood for the coming battle.
The 26th would be acting in concert, striking through enemy lines swiftly to clear a corridor from the base to the spaceport, allowing their dependents, wounded, and noncoms to evacuate, along with the detachment from the 117th Sector Defense Division. From there. the 26th would fade back into the jungle, abandoning their current base, any damaged vehicles, and anything that couldn’t keep up. Scouts had been sent out to secure the rally points and engineers had been sent to the mothballed base they would take over to begin their guerilla campaign against the rebels and the ASPR.
Everything would work out.
Marigold paces the small compartment, looking over the shoulders of the tactical officers at their stations. She had commandeered the 987th’s field command vehicle for brigade command, and data from all of the other regimental command units was centralized here.
She reaches up to the radio panel mounted at the front of the compartment, and opens the command channel.
“All units begin final checks now. T minus five.”
Flipping off the channel, she lets the tactical officers collate the data, and one by one they give her thumbs up. She sends the firing order to the artillery batteries still on the ridge above the city.
The 100mm light guns and the MRLSes would launch FASCAM rounds into key enemy paths, both along the edge of the planned corridor, and behind enemy lines to disrupt supply and reinforcements. The 170mm heavy guns would begin bombardment of the enemy front lines.
The thunder begins, and the entire division begins to move. The 987th formed a spearhead, backed up by two companies of mechanized infantry to fill the holes, while a surviving company of tanks from the second-line units would run along the left flank. Both mech regiments and the balance of the infantry would then fill in behind and form security. The corridor ran down the main highway from the base to the spaceport, and was secured along the right side by the jungled hills. The evacuation convoy would follow half a kilometer behind the front, a collection of cargo trucks, second-line APCs, ambulances, and anything that wounded and evacuees could be put in. Despite losses, the non-mech elements of the 26th would be fighting at full strength thanks to volunteers from the 117th.
As for her Hounds, 181 and 190 would be assisting the frontline combatants, while 178 and Am-het were providing security for her vehicle. 180 was in the convoy, providing security for it.
~
190 and 181 knew they weren’t Handler’s favorites. 178 and 180 were her favorites for important missions, and Am-het was basically a person in her eyes. That didn’t mean it didn’t feel like a deep insult when the two CQC specialized Hounds were put on guard duty for Handler, and the two more mid-rangers were put on the front line.
Keeping up with the tanks in the frontline was easy for their mechs, and 190 simply vaults the trenches as they overrun the first line of enemy defenses. Infantry in rad-suits and masks scatter and the two Hounds pay them little mind. The tanks do most of the work of neutralizing the enemy armor, and the wave of IFVs sweeping behind clean up the infantry.
190 raises her rifle and fires a burst into an enemy IFV that had tried to make a break for it. The entire font echelon was in disarray, cohesion shattered by the Royal Army spearhead.
Handler’s voice comes on the comm. “181, 190. You have a platoon of Bravos and Alphas moving to intercept. Keep them off breakthrough platoon.”
The two Hounds accelerate, breaking out from the pack of armored vehicles. The tanks could handle a few Alphas, but those Bravos meant business.
~
Marigold notes the Hounds moving to the enemy formation, and turns her attention to more pressing matters. The enemy artillery hadn’t chosen to counter-battery her own, and was instead firing at the open space before the convoy.
“180, advance a short distance and check for mines.”
The artillery shots continued to walk, this time landing in the rear of team breakthrough. Marigold realized quickly that they had picked up on her forward leadership, and were trying to close in on the position of her command vehicle.
She glances at the marker showing the vehicle’s position off to the less threatened right flank. The standard position for such an operation under Royal Army procedure. The enemy commander is testing her likely positions, watching for vehicles breaking formation. Or they are seeding sensors, listening for command frequencies.
Shells splashed down on the monitor around the marked position, and then a direct strike on the command vehicles position.
Marigold taps on the screen, rerouting her frequency through another decoy vehicle, and walks out the back of the parked command vehicle.
The improvised command post sits inside a low concrete box, an abandoned underground parking garage. Besides the lamp on the back of the carrier and the lights on 178 and Am-het’s crouching frames, the garage is dark, and beyond the small circle of light, the shadows of abandoned cars and structural pillars are mere suggestions.
“That decoy gambit will have allowed us to hone in on their artillery for counter-battery fire.” Am-het is sitting outside her open cockpit, main cables still leading from her ports up into the opening.
Marigold nods. “Right, and those are the biggest guns they have.”
~
190 backs away from the fallen Bravo, breathing heavily. The enemy mech had sold itself dearly, taking her left forearm and the front half of her rifle with it. 181 had likewise finished off the last bravo, and team breakthrough was starting to roll past their position.
Artillery missiles and shells soar overhead from behind, impacting about a kilometer ahead.
Something flashes in the corner of 190’s sensors, carving through the lead tank of team breakthrough, a tower behind it, then vanishing out of 190’s sight. A sonic boom rips through the ruined city. One of the artillery guns, mounted on the distant ridge of the fort, vanishes from the tactical map.
~
Marigold rushes back up the ramp at the tactical officer’s exclamation.
“What is it?”
The officer turns around and projects their screen onto Marigold’s central hologram. A tank disintegrating as something passes through it, a building collapsing, an entire artillery vehicle gone in a shot that had punched through a tank, a building, and two meters of stone at the ridge that had shielded the firing position from the battle below. “Railgun, mach 12.”
Marigold clenches her fist. Another weapon the rebels shouldn’t have been able to get, and yet they have. A high powered railgun, of the kind found on combat starliners. Given they hadn’t seen it being set up, it must be on a combat unit. Probably another Goliath, which means a nuclear power source.
She switches her panel to Hound overview.
“190, 181. New mission: kill that railgun. Top priority.”
~
The next shot pierces two tanks at once, skipping off the ground, before continuing to slam through the rear of the spearhead. This time 190 is prepared and drugged, and watches the silver dart flash past in slow-motion, feels the crackle of its electromagnetic field as it passes.
“Handler, do you have an ID on the firing position?”
~
Marigold pulls up the drone feeds and runs the identification AI.
“Confirmed, five km back. UALA-188/e Maria. Federal Republic of Polaris Goliath type export model.”
The national identification is an oddity in the sea of rebel units, most of which had been suborned Persean units or smuggled in ASPR designs. Their other Goliath had been a primitive home-build. This would be different. The FRP were notorious for their arms industry, and even the stripped down monkey model Goliath would be a potent threat. How they had gotten it, Marigold doesn't know.
“Sending you the data now.”
~
190 lets the targeting data feed in, and winces. Besides the massive railgun sitting off center-line in a turret, the Maria carries quad 55mm point defense turrets, mine laying equipment, and short ranged micro-missile launchers, with a low powered CRAM laser for taking out artillery.
She could do it. Handler had tasked her with it, not 178. 190 would prove her worth. She drops the ruin of her rifle, and grabs her backup from the rack on her back.
She kicks into full speed, a ripping sprint in a body that would never tire. debris doesn't slow her down, and the further she gets from the base, the less damaged the city becomes.
She and 181 break out of cover into the ruins of an open park. Burned grass makes a black mat, while shattered sculpture and arching bridges lend it an almost alien feel.
The largest of the bridges, stretching over an empty pond, is intact, and the Maria is waiting, crouched underneath.
Even though its squatter in design than the Dyrian model, it strands almost twice the height of a frame with its hull lowered to the ground, half of which is the massive turret overshadowing almost all of its hull. Four stocky legs sprout from the sides, tipped with tracks. The railgun sprouting from the side of its turret is almost its whole length again, and the four turreted cannons stand on each corner of its hull. The turret swings around, surprisingly fast, and tracks onto 190.
“190, 181. Even at full power, it can fire every ten seconds. Don’t let it fire again.”
“Yes, Handler.”
“Yes ma’am.”
The two Hounds split, and the turret swings back into line with the advancing column, letting the 55mm guns target the mechs.
Shells chew up the burned grass, and there’s a crackle in 190’s electronic systems as EM readings build up in the Maria’s barrel.
It snaps a quick shot, then pulls out of cover, rising from its crouch as it leaves the cover of the bridge.
Hatches on the roof open, and six canisters shoot out, which spray mines all around it. 190 opens fire at its foreleg, trying to slow it down, but the outside of the limb is thick enough to stop her machine gun. 180’s shoulder-mounted guided missile launches, but is shot down by the autocannons. The good part is that so far, the turrets aren’t accurate enough to focus on them.
The Maria fires another shot into the distance.
“Focus, you two! Half our artillery is down now!”
190 dodges more fire, and takes out one autocannon turret with a volley of fire. The rest simply keep at it.
A mine rocks 190, and she looks down. She had wandered into the minefield. The explosives aren’t enough to destroy her mech, but her ankle had been fucked up. It slows her down, and a 55mm shell catches her in the shoulder. Its her already damaged arm, so the actual destruction is minimal, but between the force and her damaged ankle, she falls down.
The Maria stops firing at her, and focuses at 181. The other Hound continues to skip past its autocannon fire, letting its rifle take quick, precise shots at joints and sensors. It still does little damage, but it seems to be keeping the maria from firing its main gun.
190 catches a glint in the sky. Half a dozen shapes were falling, massive teardrops, something that looks like it shouldn’t be flying, lit by their massive drive plumes below. The starliners had arrived for the extraction.
The Maria swings its turret around with shocking speed, raising its gun.
To get extra elevation, it drops its rear legs down, digging them into the dirt, then fires.
The shot tears the top off a mostly intact tower, and causes a brief glint against sone of the starliners.
When discussing the energy of a potential weapon, designers like to talk in terms of kilotons. Thousands of tons of TNT. The energy used in the two nuclear warheads that had destroyed the base and city were equivalent to 10,000 kilotons. The round fired by the Maria carried infinitesimally little energy compared to those. It is still enough to punch through the armored hull of a transport starliner. The real danger here is the starliner’s stardrive. Due to the quick demands of evacuation, the ships were descending with their drive cores primed to go once they left the planet. The Maria’s shot had punched right through the engine bay, and tore out the safeties. Stardrives have many safety systems, given they hold sufficient energy to accelerate a ship to almost 1500 times the speed of light in under ten seconds. Compared to the nukes, the concept of “orders of magnitude” would be completely overshadowed by the amount of energy here.
Seeing the safeties blown and the drive running away, the crew does the only thing they can to save the planet below from their vessel, and initiate the drive themselves.
The ship simply vanishes as it is torn out from the domain conventional physics.
~
Marigold watches the ship’s ansible feed vanish a heartbeat later. The people of Dyrian wouldn’t be seeing the explosion for a month, but there were more immediately concerning effects.
Gamma sensors across the force spike beyond their maximum as the ship’s passage annihilates the atoms in front of it, and two other ships quickly scram their drives as the shockwave knocks them out of the air. One falls into the sea, while the other burns its fusion torch forcefully, trying in vain to regain altitude.
~
The shockwave sends 181 tumbling, while 190 and the Maria stay dug in. The Maria swings its turret around, and more hatches open, letting loose a storm of micromissiles that blanket 181.
Their signal disappears from 190s feed.
The Hound raises her rifle, and empties her magazine into the open missile racks. One of them lets out a small explosion, and doesn’t close with the others. 190 drops the rifle, and pulls an anti-armor grenade.
The Maria stomps over and spends a moment pondering her, before raising one massive leg.
Its the last thing 190 can do to release her grenade into the rent in the turret before it brings the leg down.
~
Marigold steps back from the terminal, and closes the Hound feed.
“All forces, railgun down. Make a break for the spaceport now. You know the drill after.”
She looks up at the command staff as she walks out the back of the carrier. “You guys too. Get to the fallback. I have one thing left to do.”
The pair of jeeps that had accompanied her command squad are now idling. 178 and Am-het have sealed their cockpits, and are waiting for her. Beneath her shirt, a metal key rests heavy on its lanyard.
End, chapter 18.