McDaniels had abandoned her mortars – they were more or less ineffective anyway – and turned the crews into replacements for the autocannon teams. She’d lost two of her four HVMs. She could replace lost crews, but there was nothing she could do about missile launchers that were blown to bits. She hated to think of her people as more replaceable than equipment, but in the cold mathematics of the Battle of Cornwall, they were. There was time for self-loathing later…if she ever got off this miserable planet. For now all she cared about was keeping the maximum amount of fire on those things.
McDaniels was a cold realist - most of her colleagues would say a pessimist - and she generally expected things to get worse rather than better. Her years of combat experience had only confirmed that point of view. But even she was unprepared for what happened next.
“Lieutenant! What the hell is THAT?” It was Sergeant Jones, but he only beat the rest of the section leaders by a few seconds.
She saw it too. The enemy robots were fearsome adversaries, two and a half meters tall, with four large appendages bristling with weapons. But the thing she saw now froze the blood in her veins. It was close to four meters tall and jet black. Its legs were wider than an armored Marine, and its massive body supported six huge arms.
McDaniels was transfixed, but only for a few seconds. “HVMs, target that thing. Now!” She tried to keep her voice calm, but she didn’t quite manage it. She took a deep breath, forcing back the urge to turn and run. She was having a hard time dealing with these things. She’d faced enemies before, and she’d always been afraid…anyone sane was afraid in battle. But this enemy was different. There was a coldness, a relentlessness about them. A human enemy was frightening enough, but at least you knew he felt the same things you did – fear, pain, uncertainty. But that equilibrium was shattered here. She didn’t think these foes had any of those weaknesses. And these new monstrosities were like some nightmare conjured up from the darkness.
She saw two HVMs impact just in front of the thing, and she watched in horror as it lumbered forward through the maelstrom. It looked untouched, its jet black exoskeleton showing no signs of damage. “Fire again! Autocannons, open fire on the enemy front line.” Her voice was rougher this time. She didn’t know what to do, and the stress was pushing her to the breaking point. Her people couldn’t leave…not yet. Colonel Teller had personally positioned her detachment here. The rest of the line was pulling back, and it was her job to cover that retreat. If the enemy got past her now they’d hit the retiring units in the flank and slaughter them. No, she thought, we’re not going to let that happen.
“HVM teams. Reduce spread pattern to minimum dispersion.” She was regaining her composure, at least a little. She knew her people had to be near the end of their endurance, and the last thing they needed was to think their CO was losing it. “We need to score a direct hit.” The HVMs were designed to split into seven separate warheads just before impact. The default setting was to spread them as far as possible to create the largest target area. With the dispersal settings on minimum, they had a better chance for one of the warheads to actually hit the enemy. The kinetic energy from a hyper-velocity missile was substantial…maybe even enough to hurt this monster.
She watched as her teams fired another shot, and her heart leapt as one of them scored a direct hit. One of the secondary warheads slammed into the massive robot and exploded into a billowing fireball. A ragged cheer went up on the comlink. Usually she’d scold her people for the indiscipline, but this wasn’t a normal situation. Besides, her own voice had been one of those among the cheers.
She cranked up her visor to Mag 10 to get a good look, and she could feel her limbs go cold as she watched the thing walking out of the billowing smoke. It was damaged at least, that much she could tell. One arm was gone and another was hanging loosely, apparently inoperative. But it still came forward, and it began to return fire, raking her line with rapid fire hypervelocity rounds of its own.
The heavy projectiles slammed into the ridgeline, shattering the rocks and showering her people with smashed chunks of stone. She had three people down almost immediately. Then it was five. Then six.
“Down. Everybody get low…now!” The command was unnecessary. Half the detachment had hit the ground on their own…and the other half were running to the rear. It wasn’t a rout, not exactly. But her unit was broken, and she knew it. If she didn’t pull back now and regroup she’d lose them all.
“Withdraw to secondary positions.” Oddly, the impending failure of her unit’s morale bolstered her own. They needed their CO, now more than ever, and something deep within her rose to the occasion. “Let’s move it, people. I want everyone in good order.” Her survivors filed back through the ravine leading to the rear. Teller had chosen this position well, and the line of retreat was shielded from the enemy by the mountains. She maintained her own position, counting off to make sure that every one of her Marines who was still alive had pulled back. Then she took one last look over the rock wall at the approaching enemy. The monster was still advancing…and in the distance she could see three more of them coming up over the ridge. She shivered and turned to follow her troops into the ravine.
“All ships…activate Plan Theta-1…now.” Admiral West’s transmission broke the radio silence the fleet had observed since re-entering the Zeta Bootis system. There was no time to set up another laser transmission grid, and it didn’t matter anymore anyway. Third Fleet was about to send 200 missiles at the enemy armada…and there was no way that was going to remain undetected.
The ships shuddered as they emptied their external missile racks, jettisoning the used cradles and repositioning to fire from their internal launchers. They were launching from point blank range, closer than West had ever seen missiles deployed. She’d come back to Cornwall to bushwhack the enemy, and by God that’s what she was going to do.
It had taken an iron will to wait this long to launch. She hadn’t known if the fleet could get this close undetected, but she knew they didn’t have much chance to win the fight unless they did. So she staked everything on stealth…and now she would reap the reward.
“Mystic, put me on with the bomber crews.” Third Fleet had only one capital ship, the ancient Cambrai…and it had only 12 bombers in its launch bays. It was a pitiful strike force, but she needed every bit of firepower she could get, and the 48 men and women of her bomber wings were set to launch. Not many of them expected to return, but they knew the situation, and they were ready to go.
“Connection established, admiral.”
“You all know the gravity of the situation.” Her voice was somber, emotional. “The fate of Third Fleet…and the thousands of Marines fighting on Cornwall…depends on us hitting the enemy hard and fast. We’re not going to get a second chance, so I need each of you to stay focused. Get in close, launch your torpedoes, and then get the hell out of there.” She paused, taking a deep breath. She didn’t think any of them were going to survive, but everyone needed at least a little hope…and she need to convince herself she wasn’t sending them to certain death. “Good luck to you all, and my deepest thanks for your courage and steadfastness.” She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “Mystic…issue the launch order.”
Cambrai bucked as her magnetic catapults launched the strike force. The vector was straight ahead…every unit of Third Fleet was heading directly at the enemy. The bombers fired their thrusters accelerating ahead of the fleet, following close behind the missile volleys. The naval battle for Cornwall had begun.