Since we were reinforcing a world we already held, and not mounting an attack, we were spared the rough ride of a planetary assault. It was a good thing too, because there wasn't a single Gordon lander left on the Gettysburg. We ferried down in the two available shuttles, about 50 men at a time, landing at the spaceport just outside the capital city of Weston.
Columbia was a beautiful planet, mostly covered by one giant ocean and dotted with numerous small archipelagos. The single major continent, where 95% of the population lived, was a small oval chunk of ground just 500 kilometers north to south and less than 300 east to west. Situated in the temperate northern polar zone, its climate was almost perfect.
The small island chains, mostly located closer to the equatorial zone, were sparsely inhabited by a hardy breed of colonists who braved the intense heat to produce a variety of valuable products from the Columbian sea, including several useful drugs obtained from the native fish.
It was good to get off of a spaceship and have my feet touch the ground without someone shooting at me, a pleasure that was tempered by the knowledge that while we weren't attacking, we were almost certainly a target.
All my battles to date had been offensive. We were an assault battalion - that's what we were trained for, and that's what we did. But circumstances had put us on the defensive, and now we would get a chance to dig in and fire missiles at the enemy landers - all those things that looked so good when we were attacking. But now we had a different perspective and sitting as a target and waiting for the enemy to hit us, when and where he chose, didn't seem so appealing either. We were used to having the initiative, and I'm not sure trading it for a foxhole or two was such a good deal.
We'd also be alone, totally cut off on this planet to hold it or die. When we attacked we always controlled local space, and if the battle went against us we could retreat back to the ships. Operation Achilles had been a disaster, but it still ended with almost half of the troops evac'd, even if two-thirds of those were wounded.
But the Gettysburg was heading out as soon as the landing was complete. The navy simply couldn't mount a credible defense of the system. Not now. So the strategy was to dump as much force as possible on the planet and try to hold out until a relief force could arrive.
We were milling about the field, wearing our armor because that was the easiest way to transport it down, but with visors up and weapons systems powered down. Whatever else an attack might be, it wouldn't be a surprise. The warp point probes and the spy satellites in planetary orbit would give us plenty of warning when the enemy was inbound.
I knew from the briefing we'd received on the Gettysburg that the garrison commander was Colonel Elias Holm, a veteran marine who was now fighting his second war. He'd already added two new decorations to the glittering array of medals he'd been awarded during the Second Frontier War. It occurred to me that there was a good chance we'd be helping him win his third. Holm was a high-powered commander for this posting, but he was just what was needed to take a bunch of broken, demoralized units and forge them into an iron defense.
One of the heroes of the Corps, Colonel Holm was the subject of a number of legends and rumors, and we all expected some two and a half meter giant who breathed fire and walked on water. But the man striding our way from the command building could have been any one of us. A bit older, yes, with a head of close-cropped, thinning brown hair, sprinkled with gray. He was a touch under two meters tall, with a lean, muscular build. There was a faint scar running from his hairline all the way down the right side of his otherwise pleasant but careworn face.
Any sense of disappointment that Hercules himself did not step forward to greet us vanished when he stopped walking and started to speak. Everything I learned about truly being a leader started that day. His voice was warm and friendly, but also firm and commanding. "Welcome to Columbia." The man exuded confidence with every word, and just listening to him was inspiring. "I know all of you were in Operation Achilles, and you all deserve a long stretch of R & R after that clusterfuck. But the fortunes of war are not often what we would like them to be, and as marines we do what we must. Always."
He paused and looked us over. He wasn't wearing armor, just a standard gray and black field uniform, which was clean and neatly pressed, adorned with nothing but a simple Colonel's eagle on each shoulder. His black boots were shiny and neatly polished, except around the bottom where they were crusted with reddish mud.
"You marines are all veterans. Even if Achilles was your first drop you've earned that distinction now. So I'm going to give you a good idea of what we're up against. With you and the forces the Pericles dropped off yesterday we've got 1,242 regular troops, about half of which are fully-armored marines. Most of rest of the frontline assault troops were at Tau Ceti like you, which means you're all under-supplied, and your command structures are shot to hell. We've also got 1,040 planetary militia who are well-trained and equipped. Columbia is a popular retirement spot, so the militia is well-leavened with marine vets. A lucky break. The militia also have 6 tanks…old Mark VI Pattons."
Ok, so we had about 2,300 troops. Probably more than I would have expected, especially considering how urgently they rushed less than 200 of us here. Of course everything depended on what they threw at us. This system was worth a considerable effort, but we just had no way of knowing what the enemy could bring to bear on us quickly or how hard they'd hit us from space before landing.
"We're going to get everyone billeted the best we can, and I'm going to try to give you Achilles people at least a little rest. I just don't know how long we have until we are attacked. It's possible we may not even be attacked," - yeah, sure - "but we will assume that we are a target. We are building defensive works around all the vital installations…trenches, strongpoints, and lots of underground bunkers and tunnels. A lot of that is already in place, and we're going to be working on the defense grid right up until the enemy starts landing."
So that "little rest" was going to be very little.
"We're going to man the positions with the militia and marine supporting units. All the powered infantry, plus the tanks, are going to be organized into four reaction forces. We're going to hide you underground in key spots and throw you at the enemy where you will do the most damage. You're going to be our ace in the hole, a mobile reserve that gives us the chance to surprise the attacker and take away some of his initiative."
A pretty daring strategy. The powered infantry was only a little over a quarter of our numbers, but we were well over half the overall strength and firepower. Pulling us all out of the fight at the start threatened to fatally weaken the defense, especially since the enemy would almost certainly be attacking with powered units themselves. But it gave us a real chance to win a decisive victory if things worked out. If the enemy fully committed to attacking the other units, we'd have one hell of a tactical surprise for them.
"All the Achilles people get the rest of the day to themselves. We'll get you billeted, and then I want you to grab some extra sack time. You're going to need it. Everyone's putting in 12 hours a day working on defenses - remember, a day here is 27.5 Earth hours - but you guys are going to do 8 with an extra 4 hours of rest. Starting tomorrow. Officers and sergeants, stow your suits and gear and report to the control center for a briefing in 30 minutes at 1300 hours."
About half a dozen non-coms had walked up behind him, and a burly sergeant began barking out instructions about getting us settled in. I told my senior corporal to see about the billeting, and I wandered over to where the rest of the unit commanders were already congregating.
A corporal led us to a maintenance shed where we were able to store our armor. I told the AI to pop my suit, and after asking me if I was sure (and I really hated having to repeat myself to a machine) it powered down the servo-mechanisms, and I could hear the latch-bolts sliding open.