Episode 12

Stranded

The rattling of small arms fire was intense—the air above my head was thick with bullets, but I was protected by the armored plates.

I reached the wall to defend against the assault and looked out at a mess of vehicles and men, moving in from the woods and from behind buildings. Some of our boys raced to try and take a position on the field behind an outbuilding, but a bouncing grenade round exploded over their heads, knocking them to the ground, in what state I don’t know. The others were methodically picked off by sniper fire. Meanwhile, they were pounding in mortars behind us. Without heavy guns, we weren’t in a good shape.

Then Jock came up behind me. “Tommy, we got bad news.”

“No armor,” I said.

He nodded.“The second transport never showed. No armor, no nothing.”

“Did it get shot down?”

“Nobody knows anything. Except it’s not here.”

“Can we at least get some drones up?” I asked. If nothing else, we should be able to see what we're facing. Maybe even find the wreck of the transport and salvage something from it.

“Scuttlebutt is the techs are putting together some anti-tank mods. They’re improvising, should be back up soon.”

“Oh, come on! We shouldn’t be hunkering down. We should be kicking ass! These Corwies are barely more than a sub-planetary militia!” I waved my hand towards the field in frustration.

Then the colonel’s voice came over the radio, calm and clear. “Just hold the perimeter, men, and keep your heads down. We have Ulimbese air coming in behind us. Sit tight and wait upon your platoon leader’s command. We’ll follow up on the aerial assault; they won’t be prepared for that.”

That was a relief. I took a position and looked for targets, popping off rounds at anything that moved, though probably doing nothing more than making them think twice about getting closer. And then, from the north, the gunships came swooping in low over the trees. They looked like clunky vultures of death, with dual rotors and dual machine guns pointing forward from their missile-bearing bellies.

The enemy had seen them and started firing upwards, but the gunships had a long range, launching missiles down towards the Corwistalian troops. Explosion after explosions rocked the field and then I saw the enemy break and flee, trucks, men on foot—all racing back into the woods.

“Move out!” the captain ordered, and we tore out the gates and after the retreating Ulimbese, firing as we leapfrogged forward. Overhead, the gunships shredded the forest ahead of us. I ran past bodies on the ground. I pressed into the woods and saw a guy in front of me throw down his RPG and spring over a drainage ditch. I hit him mid-jump and he crumpled. I saw Rocky to my left clubbing a fallen Corwie with his rifle. Dude was intense. We pressed on, killing everyone, all the wounded, all the retreaters we could see. Then, as dawn streaked the sky, the colonel finally called us back to camp.

I wasn’t sure if I was more tired or hungry as I followed the rest of my team back on tired feet past the remains of smoking vehicles and sprawled bodies.

Jock caught me on the radio and I met him just inside the walls, along with the rest of our squad. We hadn’t lost anyone, although Park had a cut on his forehead. We were muddy, battered, exhausted, but exhilarated to have driven off the attack. I had to admit, the Corwies were gutsy. If it hadn’t been for the imperial air support, we might still be dodging mortars.

The colonel called the officers and sergeants to assemble inside the resort. Jock left us and we waited to see what would happen next. The minutes ticked on and our sweat cooled, the exhaustion really started to hit me but I wanted to know what was up before heading to sleep.

Eventually he came back, shaking his head. The Bastards gathered around him expectantly.

“Well, men, you aren’t going to like this. But good news first. The colonel sends his congrats on successfully repelling last night’s attack despite limited resources. He’s real proud of you all. The other good news is that the second transport was not shot down. And now for the bad news. It pulled out and is headed back to Kantillon.”

A murmur went up at this. Without our armor and artillery, this whole operation would be in jeopardy.

Jock continued, “To make a long story short, Wardogs will not be contracting with this particular supplier again. The transport company absolutely refused to make delivery due to the unexpected surface-to-air attacks on its first transport. The Kingdom of Corwistal has made it quite clear that they will attempt to shoot down any incoming ships from off-planet, and the shipping company presently in possession of our armor and artillery is not willing to take the risk of losing its transport. Of course, we will be seeking legal recourse on this point, and corporate has promised future drops to be arranged, yet for now, we must make do. Our techs hope to get drones up and going on something other than recon mode as well, which should help take some of the pressure off. Still, I have been assured that the cargo situation will be resolved as soon as possible, so don’t go getting your panties in a bunch. For now, we are to clean our weapons, secure our gear, and we’re going to arrange sleeping quarters and meals.”

“As soon as possible,” Park said, rubbing the bandage on his head. “Heard that before.”

Yeah, for varying degrees of possible. I was pissed. We were all pissed. The last thing any of us wanted was to get killed by some hick on a backwater planet on behalf of a tin-pot emperor with delusions of grandeur, just because some chicken-hearted paper-pushers broke their contract with us.