Mark “Coop” Cooper

Location: Unnamed Planet, Contested System, Unaligned Space

“Steady . . . Steady . . .” the LT’s voice ordered over the comms.

Coop knew the you officer was trying to be strong, reassuring, and lead from the front. It didn’t quite come off like that, but it was worth the try. After all, they were facing ten-to-one odds. The enemy was better equipped, and hadn’t been in a knock down brawl only a few hours ago.

Coop tried no to let the weariness get to him, but it was tough. There was only so many times your adrenals could kick in before you just needed to lay down and take a nap.

His AI was set to disperse the welcome cocktail if it sensed he needed it, but now wasn’t the time. “Anything?” he pinged the SGT.

“They’re knocking our scouts down before we can even get close,” the SGT replied.

The Confeds weren’t the only ones with drones, and the LT had commissioned the faber to build a few scouting versions. They took less time and resources without having to build weapons, but they’d still only gotten a half dozen set and off by the time the Confeds hit the ground. Their FOB was far enough away, and with a mountain between them, that Coop couldn’t reliably hit them with indirect fire. Plus, with the LT still keeping him out of the decision-making loop, things were getting tough. Add to that the fact there were legit MOUNTs on the ground, not the retarded step children versions Coop was piloting, and this whole thing was a shit ball rolling down hill and gaining steam.

Coop kept his position at the faber, as ordered. It was too valuable a resource to leave unguarded; especially after the drone attack.

“Movement in sector 7!” a panicked PVT yelled.

“Damnit, Kinski, give us distance, direction, and description,” the NCOIC scolded him over the open channel.

Coop chuckled. Sometimes it was good to see an NCO be an NCO, even if they were hip deep in shit.

“Yeah, um . . . sorry. I’ve got approximately eight Confeds, six hundred meters, at two hundred and fifty degrees, sergeant,” he replied properly.

Coop still had a chief’s codes, so he could peek into the PVT’s head. He toggled to the PVT’s video stream and rewound.

Sure enough, there were eight Confed troopers in their half-HI armor getup, working their way around the perimeter. They were making themselves a juicy target, even with their heavier shielding, and the portable generator one guy was carrying on his back. The LT was already diverting forces to deal with the first enemy contact, but Coop got a bad feeling.

He pulled up his topographical map and overlaid it with the footage of what he was seeing. It didn’t make sense. Forty meters back there was a draw that would have allowed the Confed troops to move into position without being seen. Either the SGT leading the Confeds didn’t know his head from his ass, or this was meant to draw the LT’s attention.

Coop immediately set his sensors to scan the opposite side of the perimeter. “Sir, this feels like a feint. We should . . .”

“Keep this channel clear, chief,” the LT but in and shut him down.

he never got to finish.

The scream of incoming rockets hitting the perimeter was all the confirmation that Coop needed to tell him he was right. He counted the explosions as three rockets hit the outer perimeter. If the Commonwealth grunts weren’t dug in tighter than a tick, they’d be ash. One rocket bypassed the perimeter and streaked straight for the faber. Coop’s swatter sprang to life, but took longer than necessary, and more ammo, to bring the guided rocket down. In the end, it dipped instead of dived, and Coop blew it to pieces. Debris rained down around him, sparking off the shield as the attack commenced in earnest.

“SGT, plug the gap!” Coop yelled, but the other NCO was already on it.

A volley of micro missiles streaked toward where the rockets were coming from, and where no less than sixty Confed marines were leap-frogging toward the Commonwealth lines. Stunned by the rocket attack, the grunts took precious seconds to orient on the threat and bring their weapons to bear. The SGT’s missiles struck home, punctuating the fight with thermal blooms, and giving the grunts a second to get in the game.

It was still sixty guns on about a dozen, and even firing on full auto, it was obvious the grunts were going to be overrun within a minute. Then the Confeds tripped the mines. Payback’s a bitch, and the ground rumbled in rebellion of mankind’s ingenuity. Dirt geysered into the air, along with marines, as the mines stopped the advance cold. That allowed the SGT time to get into position and bolster the defense.

The SGT let go with everything he had. Micromissiles, next-gen magnetic accelerator cannon, anti-infantry gun, and even the artillery tube on his back got into the game. It was an exquisite display of modern warfare, and against the odds, it drove the Confed’s back.

Artillery shells rained down on their lines. Missiles streamed in for the first punch, before the SGT unleashed his cannon for the haymaker. Enemy shields failed and marines died left and right. They quickly pulled back to cover, leaving their dead smoking on the field.

Coop gave the SGT a mental nod, and got back to his job.

With the SGT repositioned, more of the lines came under his responsibility. His AI continued to scan and tag potential threats, and, above all, kept an eye out for the enemy MOUNTs. If he hadn’t instructed the AI to report anything that might even resemble a MOUNT to him, he would have missed it. Even then, it was too late.

The bloom of a true MOUNT’s next-gen magnetic accelerator was the first sign of the thing. The heavy round, which punched way above Coop’s MOUNT’s weight class ripped through the atmosphere, leaving a trail of fire. Its target, the SGT fucking up the Confed’s attack plans.

“Ser . . .!” Coop started to yell, but the NCO was already in motion. They’d made sure their own AI was looking for the only war machine on the battlefield that could stand up to them.

Because of that, the round meant to threaten warships in close-orbit only took him in the shoulder instead of the chest. The screech of metal still made Coop wince in his armor, and the friendly MOUNT was blasted to the ground.

Coop almost abandoned his position, but stopped himself. If the faber fell, they were totally fucked.

Thankfully, the grunts on the ground responded. They clambered to the downed MOUNT and started working the ejection sequence. It wouldn’t work one hundred percent, because the MOUNT was wrecked, but a quick check of the SGT’s vitals showed red. They were still alive, but needed a medic pronto.

Coop was a few seconds late on the uptake after seeing his battle buddy go down. His AI realized the threat before he did. The SGT’s MOUNT’s shielding didn’t do jackshit to stop the incoming round. Sure, it probably blunted the impact enough it didn’t turn the whole MOUNT into a frag grenade, but it had failed to stop a single shot from the enemy weapons system. If the SGT was the logical first target with their defense of the lines, then it didn’t take a genius to figure out the second target.

His AI activated his boots and threw him out of the way as fire and death ripped past the structure covering the faber. The civilians were nearby, so to do it was one hell of a shot. To thread the needle like that took some big balls, but it also kept Coop alive. He was still knocked on his ass by the shockwave of the round passing, but with the miss, it went careening off into the distance, clearing the horizon before Coop could breathe a sigh of relief.

Since he was already on the ground, he sent a volley of artillery rounds along the back azimuth to the enemy. He doubted he’d hit anything, but it would fuck up any follow-on attempts to kill him while he got to his feet and put the building with the civilians between him and the threat.

Coop groaned as his heart beat like it was running the Kentucky Derby. The enemy wasn’t even in front of him yet, and he was already on defense. Coop thought. But that was easier said than done when the Confed’s had already set the noose, and were starting to squeeze.

***

Benjamin Gold

Location: CCIWS Stakeholder’s Views, Contested System, Unaligned Space

Ben watched the battle unfold from a camouflaged tent at the FOB the marine captain had set up. The holo-tank, which looked like it had been stolen from a destroyer, dominated the space. Several communications nodes surrounded it, with specialists waiting to relay orders to the troops in the field. Ben wasn’t about to start backseat driving the marine, but if it was him, he’d be out there with his troops fighting.

“The initial assault is completely stalled, sir,” a PVT relayed as the friendly, blue icons started to fall back.

Ben’s eyes weren’t on the marine line, they were on the enemy MOUNT a bunch of grunts were trying to pry open to rescue the pilot. “You should have taken my deal, Coop,” he wasn’t sure if that was his old teammate, but it was a fifty-fifty chance it was.

“Sir,” Mike-One successfully disabled. Mike-Two neutralization is a failure,” another communications tech relayed.

“Damn. So close,” the captain slapped his palm on the edge of the holo-tank.

The entire first thrust was designed to bring out the Commonwealth’s big guns. If they could take out the enemy MOUNTs, they’d be able to easily overrun the Commonwealth’s lines with hardly any casualties. The MOUNTs were such force multipliers on a battlefield, the captain didn’t want to risk slaughtering his men to get the job done.

That point was proven for the two platoons he sent to attack and draw the MOUNTs out. It was still hard for Ben to imagine the Confederation’s new organizational system, but he could see the value in having units bigger than squads and smaller than companies in a small-scale fight like this. Whatever their designation, the failed attack had cost five KIA and twice as many WIA. Twenty five percent of the attack element was out of action in a few seconds. That’s what MOUNTs brought to the table.

The captain looked like he was considering the same thing Ben was. “Lieutenant,” he called, and a face replaced the battlefield on the holo-tank.

“Sir,” the no-nonsense man replied.

“Take your team in there and dig them out.”

“Roger, sir,” the element’s MOUNT commander cut the link, and went to execute the captain’s orders.

Ben sighed.

It was better they be wounded than dead, and after those losses, the Confederation MOUNT were going in hungry for blood.