The AI interface helped compensate for weather,
visual irregularities, even projected movement of the target. An expert sniper
could score a hit as far away as ten klicks.
I’d trained on the weapon at Camp Puller, and I’d been
fast-tracked for sniper school based on my performance. Snipers were all
veterans though, so I couldn’t go right into the training program from Puller,
and I’d been stuck on Tombstone since then. I expected to go after this
campaign, though things would turn out differently, and I’d never end up being
a sniper. But I always respected the effectiveness of well-utilized
sharpshooters.
After he’d deployed everyone, picking out their exact
positions himself, the lieutenant settled in directly on my left. He gave us a
few short instructions and a little pep talk, but mostly he left us alone. We
knew what we were doing, and we knew what was coming. The Janissaries would be
here soon, and we’d be waiting for them.
This was the first time I’d faced veteran, elite troops, and
it was a lot different that the colonial regulars we’d been fighting. They
started out with a heavy bombardment, blasting our entire ridge with rockets
and frag shells. We had good cover, and I doubt they expected to inflict a lot
of casualties. But they knew we were tired, and they wanted to rattle us as
much as possible. They also directed some of the bombardment behind our line,
creating a complication for any troops redeploying or reinforcements moving up.
We returned fire, but we had a lot less ordnance then they
did, and I doubt we accomplished anything but a superficial show of defiance.
Still, I cheered like everyone else when the captain ordered the company’s
mortars to open fire. I was still enraged about Harden and Quincy…the guilt
would come, and when it did it would be severe, but right there on that battle
line I wanted blood, I wanted vengeance.
They didn’t fire for long, and about half an hour after
they’d opened up they stopped. Their lines were silent for a few minutes and
then shells started impacting the plain in front of our position. The
Janissary mortars were firing smoke shells. It wasn’t real smoke of course,
though that’s the name we gave it, but a dense radioactive steam used to shield
an attack. Opaque, it blocked visibility, and the radiation and chemical
makeup interfered with scanners. The heat of the steam clouds made infrared
and temperature-based scanning useless as well, so the stuff was very effective
at screening an advance. It was a powerful tool, and I never understood why we
didn’t use it.
This was it. We knew they’d be coming up behind those
clouds, and that this would be the climactic attack. Either we’d hold or they
would win.
“OK, Third Company.” Captain Riklis was addressing the
entire unit. His voice was steady, and in it I could detect barely controlled
anger. His blood was up. This was the first time I’d faced Janissaries, and I
wasn’t aware yet just how much of a rivalry we had with them. When Marines
faced Caliphate Janissaries there was no quarter even thought of…it was a fight
to the death. “I know you’re all tired, and we’ve suffered heavy losses
already. And these bastards are fresh. This is going to be one hell of a
brawl.” I really liked that he was being straight with us, not sugar coating
things. He was rallying us, but with respect. We were professionals; we knew
the obstacles to victory, and we were ready to face the challenges and win in
spite of them. “But there is no unit – none! – in the whole damned Corps I’d
rather have under me today. I know…know with every fiber of my being that
whatever comes through that smoke, Third Company is going to be ready…and we’re
going to wreck it!”
Before I joined the Corps, before I ended up on a battle
line waiting for an enemy to come and try to kill me, I never thought about how
words could affect
visual irregularities, even projected movement of the target. An expert sniper
could score a hit as far away as ten klicks.
I’d trained on the weapon at Camp Puller, and I’d been
fast-tracked for sniper school based on my performance. Snipers were all
veterans though, so I couldn’t go right into the training program from Puller,
and I’d been stuck on Tombstone since then. I expected to go after this
campaign, though things would turn out differently, and I’d never end up being
a sniper. But I always respected the effectiveness of well-utilized
sharpshooters.
After he’d deployed everyone, picking out their exact
positions himself, the lieutenant settled in directly on my left. He gave us a
few short instructions and a little pep talk, but mostly he left us alone. We
knew what we were doing, and we knew what was coming. The Janissaries would be
here soon, and we’d be waiting for them.
This was the first time I’d faced veteran, elite troops, and
it was a lot different that the colonial regulars we’d been fighting. They
started out with a heavy bombardment, blasting our entire ridge with rockets
and frag shells. We had good cover, and I doubt they expected to inflict a lot
of casualties. But they knew we were tired, and they wanted to rattle us as
much as possible. They also directed some of the bombardment behind our line,
creating a complication for any troops redeploying or reinforcements moving up.
We returned fire, but we had a lot less ordnance then they
did, and I doubt we accomplished anything but a superficial show of defiance.
Still, I cheered like everyone else when the captain ordered the company’s
mortars to open fire. I was still enraged about Harden and Quincy…the guilt
would come, and when it did it would be severe, but right there on that battle
line I wanted blood, I wanted vengeance.
They didn’t fire for long, and about half an hour after
they’d opened up they stopped. Their lines were silent for a few minutes and
then shells started impacting the plain in front of our position. The
Janissary mortars were firing smoke shells. It wasn’t real smoke of course,
though that’s the name we gave it, but a dense radioactive steam used to shield
an attack. Opaque, it blocked visibility, and the radiation and chemical
makeup interfered with scanners. The heat of the steam clouds made infrared
and temperature-based scanning useless as well, so the stuff was very effective
at screening an advance. It was a powerful tool, and I never understood why we
didn’t use it.
This was it. We knew they’d be coming up behind those
clouds, and that this would be the climactic attack. Either we’d hold or they
would win.
“OK, Third Company.” Captain Riklis was addressing the
entire unit. His voice was steady, and in it I could detect barely controlled
anger. His blood was up. This was the first time I’d faced Janissaries, and I
wasn’t aware yet just how much of a rivalry we had with them. When Marines
faced Caliphate Janissaries there was no quarter even thought of…it was a fight
to the death. “I know you’re all tired, and we’ve suffered heavy losses
already. And these bastards are fresh. This is going to be one hell of a
brawl.” I really liked that he was being straight with us, not sugar coating
things. He was rallying us, but with respect. We were professionals; we knew
the obstacles to victory, and we were ready to face the challenges and win in
spite of them. “But there is no unit – none! – in the whole damned Corps I’d
rather have under me today. I know…know with every fiber of my being that
whatever comes through that smoke, Third Company is going to be ready…and we’re
going to wreck it!”
Before I joined the Corps, before I ended up on a battle
line waiting for an enemy to come and try to kill me, I never thought about how
words could affect
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