“Here to help, Major,” Michael said. “It’s the least we can do.”
“Thanks.” Moore looked at Michael’s security detail, whose members were dressed like everyone else, Michael included, in the combat fatigues of Hammer marines. “Even with their visors up you’d never know that two of them were women,” he said with a grin.
“Don’t tell them that.” Michael chuckled. “But I still worry about them compromising the operation, you know, if we’re stopped. Their IDs might say they’re men, but it won’t take long to disprove that.”
“Shit!” Moore said. “I knew there was something I had to tell you. I got word an hour ago. DocSec has just made changes to the way their ID knowledge base works. None of our civilian IDs are any good anymore.”
“They’re not? But what about checkpoints? How will you get through?”
“The old-fashioned way,” Moore said. He lifted his assault rifle with an evil grin. “And it’s not such a problem. Our orders look genuine. Hell, they are genuine, authorized by the 273rd Transport Regiment’s commanding officer himself, not that he knows that. So the marines won’t be checking IDs, and those DocSec pigs aren’t too keen to pull marine convoys over these days, so they won’t be either. They know what happens when they try. Don’t worry; we’ll have no problems getting to McNair.”
“I hope so,” Michael said, looking around for a comm box, “but I need to check if ours are okay.”
“I already have. Your IDs are screwed too. Once you’re in McNair and on your own, they won’t help you if DocSec pulls you over.”
“Damn!” Michael grumbled.
“You’ll be fine. Keep those visors down, look aggressive, and maybe DocSec will leave you alone.”
Then it was time. “Move out,” Moore ordered, and the 385th headed out into a rain-swept night. Michael, Shinoda, and the four members of his security detail fell in behind, the darkness flaring as NRA air-defense batteries engaged the flood of incoming Hammer kinetics.
Friday, October 1, 2404, UD
War room, offices of the Supreme Council, McNair
Admiral Kerouac cleared his throat before proceeding. “And so to sum up: Although it is still very early days, the heretics’ strategy is clear: a two-pronged operation mounted from their Branxton and Velmar bases. It’s an operation that relies on two things: speed and the Feds’ air and missile defense assets. Its objective is McNair. Our response …”
The man looked nervous, Polk thought, as well he should. The NRA’s assault was the greatest threat the Hammer of Kraa had ever faced.
“… depends on our ability to mobilize overwhelming forces to defend McNair. In the end, it is weight of numbers that will determine the outcome of this battle, and we have the numbers; the heretics do not. They have no reinforcements, no new supplies; they cannot draw on the resources of three systems as we can. They have to finish the job with the assets they started with. That’s their weakness, and it will prove to be fatal. Are there any questions?”
“What makes you think we can mobilize outstanding force, admiral?” Councillor Kando asked.
“I don’t understand your point,” Kerouac replied. “The orders transferring … Let me see …” Kerouac said as he consulted his notes. “Yes, the orders transferring MARFORs 35, 66, 87, 66, and 46 to the McNair theater of operations went out last night as soon as the scale of the threat became apparent.”
“Well, then. Let’s start with MARFOR 87. It’s currently tasked in support of DocSec counterinsurgency operations across South Barassia, so what in Kraa’s name makes you think you can just pull them out? Did you even talk to the planetary councillor before the orders were issued?”
“No, Councillor, I did not.”
“You damn well should have,” Kando barked, his forefinger stabbing out at Kerouac. “The marines of MARFOR 87 are staying until the heretics are under control. And that’s why I’m questioning your assumption that you can mobilize overwhelming forces.”
Polk sat back as voices fueled by fear and anger engulfed the war room. Even if the marines being used to maintain order across the three Hammer worlds stayed put, he still thought the NRA could be beaten, but all of a sudden the chances were not looking as good.
It is time, Polk decided, to bring my plans for a long and comfortable retirement forward.
Monday, October 3, 2404, UD
Cordus-Perdan Highway, Commitment
“Shiiiiiit!” Michael hissed, burying his head as a Hammer ground-attack lander flashed overhead, trailing fire and smoke. Seconds later, it slammed into the ground barely 500 meters ahead of where the 385th waited, its enormous mass blasting debris in all directions. “That was a bit close.”
“Very,” Shinoda said. “Looks like our missile batter-”
Without any warning, the lander’s fusion plants blew, unleashing a ball of blue-white light that seared all the darkness out of the night sky. An instant later, the shock wave hit, hammering Michael’s body down into the dirt, the air filled with the awful screeching of torn metal howling past the lander.
“I don’t think we have to worry about survivors,” Shinoda said, looking at the pillar of smoke and flame climbing away from the shattered wreck.
“Reckon not, though-hold on, sergeant,” he said as his earpiece crackled into life, “ENCOMM’s on the line.”
Major Moore’s voice was instantly recognizable. “Corndog, this is Gridlock-One, over,” he said.
“Route Alfa to your RV point is now clear. Confirm ready to move out.”
“Confirmed. Gridlock-One is ready to move.”
“Roger, stand by, Gridlock-One. We are still waiting for Starburst to confirm your right flank is secure.”
“Request you expedite Starburst. We are behind schedule.”
“Understood, Gridlock-One. Corndog, out.”
Michael swore under his breath not for his own sake but for Moore’s. The 385th had been held up for two hours waiting for NRA ground-attack landers to clear the way through to McNair and for Starburst-10 Brigade-to secure the high ground to the right of their line of advance. And time was the one thing Moore had very little of. For Tanglevine to succeed, he had to have Calverson and Malfroy in custody before Polk realized that the breakout from the Branxtons could not be stopped until it reached McNair.
The moment Polk did, he would pull every lever he could to stave off defeat, and that would include mobilizing Calverson and the Brethren.
It was twenty long minutes later before the 385th moved off again. The company moved fast down the long wooded foothills of the Branxtons, the path ahead cleared for them all the way down to the Oxus River by units from 10 Brigade. The sky to Michael’s left was filled with a flickering light show that marked the NRA’s relentless push toward McNair. The air shook with the thunder of landers wheeling overhead, the slashing screech of missiles streaking to intercept incoming Hammer attacks, and the popping bangs as laser batteries intercepted the never-ending rain of kinetics the Hammers were dropping on the advancing NRA.
Moore stopped the 385th just short of the Oxus River. A trooper ran back to where Michael and his team waited. “The major says the transport’s waiting across the bridge, but we’re behind schedule,” the man said. “You’ll need to get a move on as soon as we’ve cleared the road. Those truckbots are leaving in ten whether we’re there or not, so don’t let your people lag.”
“They won’t,” Michael said.
The order came. The 385th stampeded for the bridge. Any pretense at concealment was abandoned in the frantic rush. Pounding along with his team, Michael prayed that the hard-pressed Hammers would be too busy to wonder why a company-size unit dressed in regulation Hammer marine combat gear and sporting the Hammers’ IFF codes of the day was running away from the front line toward a line of truckbots.