started that day.
It wasn’t the last time I’d see bad intel, but it was the last time I’d believe
it.
Not only were we facing more enemy troops than should have
been possible, but we were also up against a tac-force of Janissaries. We’d
been outnumbered all along on Tombstone - we knew that - but we’d had the
qualitative edge. My battalion was an elite assault unit, one of the best in the
Corps. Most of the enemy troops were colonial troops, well-equipped, but
definitely second line. One on one they had never been a match for us.
But the Janissaries were front line troops, every bit as
elite as we were. They were the only fighting force with even more training
than we had, since they were essentially bred as soldiers and raised from
childhood in the barracks. Worse, they were fresh, and we’d been fighting for
two and a half days, beating back every conscript and colonial regular they could
throw at us. We had half our total strength on the whole planet deployed, but
I still wasn’t sure we’d be able to stop them.
But stopping them wasn’t an option; it was a necessity. If
we’d fallen back before the battle we could have fortified the surrounding
hills and maintained a strong defensive line. But if we pulled out now, broken
and beaten, we’d compromise our control over the entire sector…and lose the
most productive mines on the planet. A defeat here could be enough to shatter
the stalemate on Tombstone. I wasn’t up in the chain of command, but I didn’t
have to be to know our orders. Hold at all costs.
I was back almost exactly where I’d been for most of the
last three days…nearly dead center in our line. The fighting here had been fierce
on the first day, and it looked like it had been just as intense while we were
in reserve. The dead and wounded had been pulled back, but from the shattered
pieces of armor and equipment I had a pretty good idea the fighting had been
brutal.
We weren’t back long before we were attacked, but we beat it
back without too much trouble. That’s when we lost Harden and Quincy. When
they went down I shifted over, covering a larger frontage. Corporal Vincennes
and I were the only ones left in the fire team. We tried to get Harden’s
auto-cannon set up, but it had also been hit. It might have been repairable,
but not in the field, so it was useless to us. The corporal set me up just
left of where the cannon had been, and he headed 200 meters to the right.
We were a laughable defense. Any serious attack would have
cut right through us, but fortunately the enemy didn’t hit us before we were
reinforced. The corporal and I had held that forlorn hope for about ninety
minutes before the lieutenant came jogging over with reinforcements. The
captain had sent up the last of the company reserve, and he cut the frontage
our platoon had to cover. The lieutenant took advantage to pull some strength
from other sectors to strengthen our weakened center.
He brought the platoon weapons team with him, though only
one of the original crew of three remained. Langon, the platoon’s technician,
was backing up Private Glenn, and they were handling the thing a man short.
The medium auto-cannon was a double-barreled hyper-velocity weapon that put out
three times the firepower of Harden’s lighter version. They set it up right
where we’d had the SAW, though they had to clear some of the rock out to make
enough room. Fortunately, Langon had the plasma torch, so it only took a few
minutes to dig in. When they were done, it was in a great spot, in good cover
and able to direct fire on either side of the rocky spur.
The lieutenant also brought Graves, the sniper, and he
placed him in a big rock outcropping just behind our line. He had the
marksman’s weapon of choice, the M-00, AI-assisted sniper’s rifle. It was
longer than our infantry weapons and fired a single shot at even higher
velocity and greater accuracy.
It wasn’t the last time I’d see bad intel, but it was the last time I’d believe
it.
Not only were we facing more enemy troops than should have
been possible, but we were also up against a tac-force of Janissaries. We’d
been outnumbered all along on Tombstone - we knew that - but we’d had the
qualitative edge. My battalion was an elite assault unit, one of the best in the
Corps. Most of the enemy troops were colonial troops, well-equipped, but
definitely second line. One on one they had never been a match for us.
But the Janissaries were front line troops, every bit as
elite as we were. They were the only fighting force with even more training
than we had, since they were essentially bred as soldiers and raised from
childhood in the barracks. Worse, they were fresh, and we’d been fighting for
two and a half days, beating back every conscript and colonial regular they could
throw at us. We had half our total strength on the whole planet deployed, but
I still wasn’t sure we’d be able to stop them.
But stopping them wasn’t an option; it was a necessity. If
we’d fallen back before the battle we could have fortified the surrounding
hills and maintained a strong defensive line. But if we pulled out now, broken
and beaten, we’d compromise our control over the entire sector…and lose the
most productive mines on the planet. A defeat here could be enough to shatter
the stalemate on Tombstone. I wasn’t up in the chain of command, but I didn’t
have to be to know our orders. Hold at all costs.
I was back almost exactly where I’d been for most of the
last three days…nearly dead center in our line. The fighting here had been fierce
on the first day, and it looked like it had been just as intense while we were
in reserve. The dead and wounded had been pulled back, but from the shattered
pieces of armor and equipment I had a pretty good idea the fighting had been
brutal.
We weren’t back long before we were attacked, but we beat it
back without too much trouble. That’s when we lost Harden and Quincy. When
they went down I shifted over, covering a larger frontage. Corporal Vincennes
and I were the only ones left in the fire team. We tried to get Harden’s
auto-cannon set up, but it had also been hit. It might have been repairable,
but not in the field, so it was useless to us. The corporal set me up just
left of where the cannon had been, and he headed 200 meters to the right.
We were a laughable defense. Any serious attack would have
cut right through us, but fortunately the enemy didn’t hit us before we were
reinforced. The corporal and I had held that forlorn hope for about ninety
minutes before the lieutenant came jogging over with reinforcements. The
captain had sent up the last of the company reserve, and he cut the frontage
our platoon had to cover. The lieutenant took advantage to pull some strength
from other sectors to strengthen our weakened center.
He brought the platoon weapons team with him, though only
one of the original crew of three remained. Langon, the platoon’s technician,
was backing up Private Glenn, and they were handling the thing a man short.
The medium auto-cannon was a double-barreled hyper-velocity weapon that put out
three times the firepower of Harden’s lighter version. They set it up right
where we’d had the SAW, though they had to clear some of the rock out to make
enough room. Fortunately, Langon had the plasma torch, so it only took a few
minutes to dig in. When they were done, it was in a great spot, in good cover
and able to direct fire on either side of the rocky spur.
The lieutenant also brought Graves, the sniper, and he
placed him in a big rock outcropping just behind our line. He had the
marksman’s weapon of choice, the M-00, AI-assisted sniper’s rifle. It was
longer than our infantry weapons and fired a single shot at even higher
velocity and greater accuracy.
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