Robert sipped the coffee too quickly and winced at the burn. The battle had no official beginning. The fifty armoured vehicles looked more like one hundred as they came into plain sight in the new daylight. They formed a double column moving inevitably towards the causeway. As one, they opened fire on the hastily-built barricades that formed a semi-circle protecting the causeway entrance. The wall-like structures crumbled under the barrage. Those vehicles that led the assault sped ahead to plough through the rubble and then they were on the causeway, the rest of the column followed. Robert stood for a closer look at the enemy. They resembled charging bulls; each had twin, forward-pointing horns bulky, black frames. Along their spines were gun barrels that fired heavy bolts at the barriers and gun-towers that lined the causeway. Lieutenant Barnsley snapped an order for the artillery. Dust clouds bloomed on the causeway as the rail guns opened fire. Bull-drones flew or skidded across the causeway, crashing into heaps to hinder their companions charging behind them. These defences hindered but didn’t stop the charge. Lieutenant Barnsley watched grimly as the first drones reached the crater floor. Some of them limped having taken damage but most had escaped damage. They charged in to neutralise the nearest rail guns.
Redbourn’s elite armoured Courser squads crouched in their bunkers, only their smoothbore barrels breached the soft canopies. Close-range artillery picked off some of the incoming herd, but the no one else intervened in the stampede. Finally Captain Ramjas broke cover. More Coursers appeared from nowhere and followed their captain to meet the threat. The squad’s nine Coursers advanced in column before taking V-shape as the enemy closed in. Ramjas took his position, leading from the front, at the arrow-head’s tip. He took the first shot and it was good. Lieutenant Barnsley nodded at the display wall that showed a bolt wreck one of the drones with a direct hit. The rest of the squad were firing now, their bolts gnawing channels through the drone herd. Robert watched the engagement enraptured but flinched as one of the charging Coursers rammed a bull-drone that still survived.
Robert winced. ‘Do they have any idea how much each of those cost?’
Lieutenant Barnsley was grinning. ‘Captain,’ he said, though he was not on the channel, ‘those are expensive pieces of combat armour. Do try not to scratch them – there’s a good lad.’ The squad broke through the enemy horde, scattering the drones in all directions before wheeling about to form the column and return to the town. ‘They’ve seen us now,’ said Barnsley. ‘Now we’ll see them.’ As if on cue, a new enemy force appeared on the causeway. These weren’t armoured rovers or mechanical bulls, but thick-skinned, human-piloted battle tanks, matte black and bulkier than Redbourn’s Coursers but seemingly just as quick. They bullied their way along the causeway, taking some damage from the artillery, but not stopping. Robert tried to count them but found it impossible in the carnage. The tanks reached the crater floor and formed up, eager to join the fight but also content to wait. ‘Two tank platoons,’ said Barnsley shaking his head, ‘almost fifty units – double our number.’
Something was happening on another sector of the display wall. The Armoured Personal Carriers had raised their armoured side-panels, like black beetles stretching their wing shells. Soldiers poured out. Robert heard Lieutenant Barnsley say that each vehicle carried at least one platoon. ‘Gunfire on the east slope,’ said one the guardsmen. This portion of the crater wall had collapsed centuries ago making a rocky channel that though steep, was less so than the rest of the perimeter.
‘First Section,’ Barnsley said, ‘be ready to assist Lieutenant Alessandro.’ ‘Dino, watch out, infantry coming your way. They’re on top of you.’
‘What is that?’ Robert asked. He was watching the emptied personnel carriers spew out a green mist that slowly began to spread down the collapsed eastern slope.
‘Pea Soup,’ said Barnsley. ‘It’s a battlefield obscurant – it looks like they found a formula that works on Mars.’ A low-flying drone found images of Lieutenant Alessandro, clad in heavy infantry armour and flanked by his men, firing at the enemy that came down the slope with the fog.
‘The major for you, sir,’ said Barnsley.
‘Mr Pauly,’ said Major Hameed’s voice. ‘You’re still there. The dean was on yesterday’s last boat, I was hoping you would be too.’
‘Let me talk to them,’ Robert said. ‘Hameed, let me go out there. They’ll talk when they see me.’
‘What could you offer them? You can’t bribe them with cognac, Mr Pauly.’
‘Never negotiate unless you’re willing to walk away. I have something to offer them and I’m willing to walk away and let your men deal with them.’
‘The enemy is in our face, Mr Pauly,’ Hameed replied. ‘The fight is happening – you know this just as I do. You should have boarded that boat.’
‘And miss this?’
Hameed chuckled. ‘You won’t miss it now. My men have an evac plan in case we lose the site. I suggest you go with them, or the only asset loss to investigate will be you. You’re on your own if they catch you. You’ve been warned.’ Hameed’s voice ended.
‘He’s not normally that nice,’ said Barnsley.
‘Well I am the Deputy Director,’ Robert answered.
‘What is Dino doing?’ said Barnsley, turning back to the east slope.
Lieutenant Alessandro was kicking aside the body of an iMicor soldier he’d just killed and pressing up the slope. His men followed but struggled to match his pace. He made another shot that hit an iMicor man’s helmet. The bolt broke the armoured faceplate and pushed deep into the skull smashing the face and killing the man. He fell silently.
‘Why is he so far from the others?’ Robert asked.
‘Because he’s a fucking idiot,’ Barnsley replied. ‘Dino, you’re rushing. Slow down or you’ll be surrounded.’ Unlike Redbourn’s guardsmen who wore camouflaged battle gear, iMicor’s soldiers preferred black that made them easier to spot against the stark, ruddy landscape. Both sides used the scattered boulders for cover as they advanced and both sides took losses in the creeping fog. Robert watched as Lieutenant Alessandro killed two more iMicor soldiers with well-aimed bolts. The lieutenant was continuously moving and seemed to know exactly where his targets were. More iMicor infantrymen fell and then Alessandro disappeared into the murky soup.
Robert swayed, pivoting on a heel, studying the displays. Every available space seemed to show a video feed of some engagement. It seemed that the enemy surrounded the town – it seemed they surrounded him. Away from the east slope, iMicor’s armoured mechs had stretched into a wide, imposing line, two-deep, and all black armour and gun barrels. They closed the distance between them and the town where Captain Ramjas was organising his single platoon to meet the threat.
‘Contact, sir,’ called the guardsman.
‘You’re about to witness the first major tank engagement on this planet,’ said Barnsley. Redbourn’s outnumbered Coursers had formed their own line and were about to engage the enemy’s right, the side furthest away from the town.
‘Why have they left our side open?’ Robert asked. Barnsley had no response. Redbourn’s concentrated force charged iMicor’s left wing. Both sides let fire their terrible weapons. Bolts screamed across the no-man’s land to strike their targets or to thump harmlessly into sand. Lieutenant Okan’s armoured platoon was renowned as the world’s best, but Robert couldn’t discern art nor skill as the mechanised lines charged each other down. The gap between them closed and the two lines met. Tanks rammed tanks. They launched devastating volleys at close range while weaving through each other. Dust rose over the battlefield spoiling the view. Robert watched until the Redbourn platoon, their formation still intact though diminished in number, broke free of the swirling chaos. Having beaten the enemy’s right, they wheeled about to attack the left. Robert understood their plan.
‘The captain is down, sir,’ called the guardsman.
‘That didn’t take long,’ Barnsley muttered. ‘Do you have eyes on him?’ No reply. ‘Alex,’ he said, ‘Captain Ramjas is down, take the lead.’
Lieutenant Alexander Okan had already taken the lead. Once again in charge of his platoon, he assaulted the enemy’s left, forcing them to turnabout to face him.
Robert was standing now for a closer look at the battlefield. The land between causeway and the town was a mess of tanks and dust. Coloured symbols and lights dotted the carnage.
‘How can you even tell what’s going on?’ Robert asked.
‘Do you have eyes on the captain?’ Barnsley asked again, there was no reply.
‘There, sir.’ The guardsman shouldered passed Robert and pointed to a display frame. Captain Ramjas had lost his Courser and was retreating to the town’s safety on foot. He carried the prone body of one of his men over his shoulders, clinging to the wounded man with his left arm and clutching a Panzerfaust in the other.
‘Second Section,’ Barnsley said, ‘support the armoured platoon.’
No sooner had Second Section’s sergeant confirmed the order than Captain Ramjas was hit. Whether it was random shot or a well-aimed bolt, the captain and the injured man he carried collapsed to the turf. A bolt had broken through Ramjas’ shoulder plate. The warhead bit into the flesh. Blood boiled furiously into the freezing suck before the Polyskin resealed. Barnsley stared at the image, paralysed for a second that seemed to Robert like an eternity. The guardsman watching used her good hand to clutch her opposite shoulder.
‘Third Section,’ Lieutenant Barnsley snapped as he turned away from the video wall, ‘take two squads to the eastern slope.’
Robert had studied Redbourn’s regimental structure and understood that Lieutenant Barnsley had now committed almost every available fighter in his own platoon. The lieutenant pulled on his helmet. ‘Stay in this pod with this guardsman,’ he told Robert. ‘I’m taking my last squad to get the captain.’ He stared at the mist-shrouded eastern slope and shook his head before leaving the command pod. ‘Take him to the boat as soon as I give the order,’ he said to the scout. She nodded in reply.
The scout took the lieutenant’s place at the display wall and immediately began yelling instructions over the tactical channel.
‘How can I help,’ Robert asked her.
‘Sit down and wait, she said. ‘Watch your left!’ This she snapped at the tactical channel, ‘they’re trying to flank you.’ iMicor had the advantage. Their black tanks outnumbered Redbourn’s camouflaged Coursers and a few of their bull-drones still stalked the battlefield. Yet the Redbourn’s armoured platoon showed their discipline. Their formation held as they advanced and retreated on the battlefield. Those that moved did so as one. Those at rest suppressed the enemy with bullets and bolts while their teammates manoeuvred. Barnsley’s infantry raided the battlefield’s edge, keeping cover while firing their Panzerfausts at any black armour that wandered into their deadly range. Robert watched an iMicor man drag his broken body clear of his battle tank only to be skewered by a bolt from somewhere on the field. Black-armoured bodies, broken and lifeless, lay scattered on the eastern slope.
‘I have eyes on the lieutenant,’ said the scout. She pointed at a frame that showed Lieutenant Alessandro. He had reached the top of the slope and found no more enemies to fight. The men with him were gone. He turned back down the slope to continue his murderous rampage.
Redbourn’s tanks had contrived a way to win. They advanced against their opponents in two columns, stopping to spread into a wide line, and then reforming the column. The Coursers moved quickly to support their team mates so that no iMicor tank ever fought a single opponent.
In this manner, Redbourn drove the enemy back to the causeway. ‘Mr Pauly,’ said Hameed’s voice.
‘Major Hameed,’ Robert replied not taking his eyes from the displays.
‘It looks like there is no need to evacuate,’ said the major.
‘What about the battle?’
‘They’ve already lost,’ said Hameed. ‘They’re not going win the crater and there’s no one else coming.’ As if Hameed’s voice were a command or an omen, the enemy tanks, spontaneously and as one, broke their assault took their opportunity to retreat, scurrying back up the battle-damaged causeway. ‘Cease fire. Let them go,’ Hameed ordered someone on the tactical channel. Officers on the channel confirmed the command. “Cease fire” echoed around the command pod.
‘Have we won?’ Robert asked the scout.
She shook her head, listening to a dozen incoming feeds. ‘There’s still heavy fighting on the east slope.’
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