We covered the first eight klicks in about two hours. The sergeant halted us just short of a small rise and sent Wilson, the platoon's scout, to report on visibility from the top of the rise. I watched him scramble up the gentle slope and crouch down just below the crest. His recon armor had a different look to it…sleeker, lighter.
“Wilson reporting. Good visibility to target, estimate distance to nearest structure 1,800 meters. Twenty to twenty-five buildings, look like modular plasti-steel structures. The terrain’s completely open between here and the town, no cover at all. Looks like there’s some kind of trench dug along the perimeter. No enemy sightings.”
No cover. Shit. That meant we’d be advancing almost two kilometers over open ground, probably under enemy fire.
“Alright marines, form up at 30 meter intervals behind the crest. We’re gonna advance leapfrog fashion – first even numbers, then odd. Fifty meter intervals, grab some dirt between moves. Stationary troops, I want heavy covering fire. Assault to commence in 90 seconds.”
We were really going in. I’d been nervous about this for weeks and flat out scared to death since we stepped into the landing bay, but for some reason knowing we were heading into battle right now actually calmed me down. Maybe it was the training or some kind of silent resignation to my fate. Or the massive dose of adrenaline surging through my veins (some natural, some courtesy of the performance drugs my armor was pumping into me). Whatever it was, I suddenly had a clarity of thought I hadn’t felt in weeks now. I had been trained for this, and I was ready.
I was the ninth one in line so I was supposed to provide covering fire while the evens went forward. I was pressed against the ground behind the hill - my head was maybe half a meter below the crest.
“Covering fire, now!”
I threw my arms up over the crest and rested my auto rifle on the ground in front of me. I had it set for burst fire and when I pulled the trigger it began to spit out 12 rounds a second in micro-bursts of four. The fire left a faintly glowing trail of plasma as the hyper-sonic bullets ionized the air.
The M-36 auto-rifle is a state of the art projectile-firing weapon. Specially designed for use with powered armor, the gun uses electromagnetic force to propel the projectiles at tremendous velocities. Without the need to carry their own propellant, the bullets are extremely small, and a single magazine holds 500 rounds. Despite their tiny size, the hardness and speed of the osmium/iridium darts makes them extremely effective, even against armored enemies.
Two klicks was well within the range of our rifles and the entire western edge of the town was raked by our fire. I still couldn’t see any enemy soldiers through the dust and shattered rocks we were kicking up, but the main purpose of our fire was to keep their heads down. Any hits at this point would be just dumb luck.
“Alright evens, move it out! Odds, continue covering fire.”
Half of the squad leapt over the crest and ran forward. I kept up my fire, stopping only to grab another clip off my waist and reload. The guys who were advancing came under immediate fire from the trench, but our covering fire was definitely hampering the enemy response. Their shooting was sporadic and poorly aimed.
“Evens, stop and hit the ground! Covering fire!”
The advancing troops dove forward onto the ground and began spraying the enemy positions with fire.
“Odds, move out! Seventy-five meters.”
I stopped firing and climbed up over the hill. Although we were to advance in 50 meter intervals, our first move was an extra 25 meters so that our positions would be staggered with that of the evens. It took less than 20 seconds to cover the distance, but it seemed like we’d been running for an hour when the comlink crackled again. When I flopped down on the ground I let out a deep breath. I couldn't believe I wasn't hit.
“Odds, down and fire! Evens, forward 50 meters!”
We continued in this fashion until we had covered almost half the distance to the trench. We still had no one down.
The evens had just hit the ground, and the order came for us to advance. I scrambled up and headed forward. Before I had covered 10 meters, something else opened fire from the enemy trench. The volume of fire increased dramatically and I saw two of our guys go down within seconds of each other.
“Odds, hit the dirt! Cease all movement! All units fire!”
I dove to the ground, bringing my rifle up to bear as I went down. Damn! They had a heavy weapon in there. I remembered something from my ordnance training – the Shadeng-7 heavy auto gun, primary infantry support weapon of the CAC assault forces. I couldn’t recall all the details, but I was pretty sure the thing had a rate of fire of better than 3,000 rounds per minute.
The sergeant spoke again. “Ferguson, report your condition.” He didn’t ask about anyone else, though I was sure that I’d seen two casualties. I found out later that the other was Jenkins, and the sergeant’s monitors had already confirmed he was dead.
The reply was quick but a little shaky, “Took one in the leg, Sarge. I’ll be OK. Don’t think I can walk, though.”
The armor was designed to minimize the effects of a wound – the longer a wounded marine can survive, the greater the chance he will be recovered and given real medical treatment. The injury control mechanism automatically injects drugs to treat shock, minimize pain, and slow the metabolism to reduce blood loss. Additionally, there is a kit attached to the exterior of the armor containing bandages and other items that the marine himself can use if he is able, though there isn’t much you can do when suited up.
“Stay put, Ferguson, keep your head down. We’ll be back for you.”
In a larger operation we'd probably have an imbedded medic with us. But with a single company spread over 100 square kilometers there was no workable way to provide supporting services. The wounded would just have to depend upon their suits’ trauma control and hope that we go on to win the battle.
“Second squad, maintain positions." The lieutenant's voice. "Evens, continue fire. Odds, grenade attack. Target the section of trench in front of those storage tanks, three rounds each. Reserve team, I want you to flank that heavy weapon – advance 500 meters to the right of the second squad.”
My rangefinder confirmed my estimate that I was about 1100 meters from the target area. I clicked the small button under my left thumb to lock the range into the firing system and, pointing my arm in the direction of the target, loosed three grenades in rapid succession.
A few seconds later the ground all along the target area erupted as nine 100 milliton high explosive grenades exploded within a 5 second period.
The automatic fire from the trench stopped, at least momentarily. We had no way of knowing if the gun had been hit or if the crew had merely been stunned or knocked to the ground.
“Odds, covering rifle fire. Evens advance 50 meters.”
We had leapfrogged another 200 meters with only sporadic enemy fire when we got our answer, as the big gun opened up again, pinning us down about 800 meters short of the trench. This time we weren't surprised, and no one was hit as far as I could tell.
By this time the flanking force was in position on a small hill to the right and opened up on the trench. If there had been a few more enemy troops, they could have engaged the flanking force and held the entire position firmly. As it was, however, the flank force was only challenged by a single enemy trooper firing from behind one of the small buildings on the edge of the settlement. About thirty seconds after he opened fire a lucky shot landed a frag grenade about a meter behind him. Five or six pieces of osmium-iridium shrapnel slammed into him, one tearing his head clean off his body, eliminating the only effective opposition to the flank attack.
With no other protection from the enfilade fire, the enemy had to fall back from the trench leaving three casualties and the auto gun behind. A few seconds later, with the other half of the squad providing covering fire, my team took possession of the trench.