The Conscripts: Fight or Die (Blood War Book 3) (12 page)

“Now, General Sand will give you a brief overview of the invasion plans.”

Dasan stood and walked up to the holo. He pointed to the spaceport.

“This is our prime objective. Without it, we would lose too much time constructing this very same facility. It would give the Xotoli a chance to react to our invasion. So the Raiders will be dropped on the spaceport itself, while the rest of the infantry will be landed in this plain to the south of the spaceport in Landing Zones Sol and Rift. The Raiders will have to capture the spaceport and hold it until relieved. Our first and primary objective will be to relieve the Raiders before the Xotoli can react to the invasion. Once we have secured the spaceport, our Von Fleet friends will begin using what the Xotoli left and modifying it for our purposes. Once we have cleared the area around the spaceport, they will build a forward operating base using the crater between Sol and Rift Landing Zones.”

A hand went up. “General, I thought you said that it was almost finished. Couldn’t we just use what they've already constructed?”

“Yes, and that is what we hope to do, but there will be a preliminary bombardment of the spaceport and the plains by our Navy friends. We don't anticipate that and the fight for the port itself will destroy or damage it significantly. That is why we are dropping the Raiders onto the port, we hope to make the fight a primarily infantry battle and thereby minimizing the damage. In order to supply us on planet, the Navy will place a mobile off-planet base in orbit over the spaceport until we can build our own harbor. The MOPB can accept the Von Fleet container ships and provide the supplies we will need until the harbor is finished.

“Now, while that is a rough overview of what we ground pounders hope to accomplish, it gives you enough information to put in perspective the roles you will play. We will be totally dependent on you. Without the Navy controlling the space around Chika and the rest of the system, the Xotoli could simply blast us into dust and send in their hybrids.” Dasan smiled before he said, “Don’t leave without us.”

“General, what about the Xotoli using nukes on the surface?”

“Good question. They could have used nukes on Rift and Ceti but chose not to because they want the planets’ infrastructure in reasonable shape. So we are not expecting them to use them.”

“But, General, what if you do kick them off Chika? They could just cover the surface with nukes as they left.”

Sand glanced over at Admiral Grogan.

“That, ladies and gentlemen, is our job. We'll control the space in and around Chika to prevent exactly that type of scenario. So as you can see, we are all up against it. My suggestion would be for us to make sure that does not happen. I would hate to have a bunch of Marines pissed at me.”

Everyone chuckled, and Ririsa stepped back up to the podium.

“We will establish a Ball of Twine series of orbits around Chika. The ships will be in support of the Marines on the ground and looking for targets of opportunity. The closest in will be destroyers. Next will come the cruisers, which can also provide limited naval fire support. And finally we will have battleships whose sole responsibility will be to defend the space around Chika. The rest of the fleet will be patrolling the system.” Ririsa pulled up another holo of the system showing the relative positions of the planets.

“As you can see, Whiskey is in the closest proximity to Chika. Tango is halfway around Sui-Ren, and Foxtrot is on the opposite side of the sun at this time. The general was not exaggerating. The Marines will be dependent on our controlling the system. It is my feeling that the Xotoli know about invading systems and they will try to prevent us from controlling the space in this system without naval engagement. There is a good chance that the Navy will have as many battles as our friends on the planet. Any more questions?”

No one said a word. The admiral’s assessment was sinking into these captains. They were facing as tough a fight as the Marines.

“You will now break up into your assigned task groups for detailed briefings on your precise roles in this operation.”

“Excuse me, Admiral. What is the name of the operation?”

“Its code name is Wayfinder. Starting at 0000 hours we will go on Chika time. This will give us all a chance to reset our activities to coincide with those of the troops on the planet. Now let’s get to work.”

Lyten System

Von Fleet Troopship VF 11213

135th Penal Battalion

3rd Company

First Platoon

Striker led the platoon out of the assembly compartment into another compartment. One wall was covered with a long line of what looked like booths. Each one had a replica of a rail rifle sitting on a shelf. Facing the booths was a crude visual of a desert. Dieter had better visuals on his game console back at home.

“All right. Line up by squads facing the simulators,” Striker ordered.

Dieter led the first squad to the first row of booths. The second and third squads formed up behind. Another sergeant walked up to Striker. He had a pad in his hand.

“Who do you have, Striker?”

“Third Company. First platoon.”

The new sergeant stepped in front of the platoon. “Listen up, conscripts. This is the rifle range. You will be tested on your marksmanship. It will determine what kind of Von Fleet occupational specialty you will receive. If you are anything like the last platoon, you will be assigned to the permanent labor detail. Now, first squad you will step forward and pick up the rifle in your booth. The rifle is set to have the same number of rounds you will have in your weapon when it's issued. You will wait until I give the command before you touch your weapon. Anyone not following instructions will be punished. Any questions?”

No one had any questions. Striker stood to one side, his arms folded across his massive chest, his tough face impassive.

“All right. First squad forward.”

Dieter and the other men and women in the first squad stepped forward. Each stepped into a booth and stood waiting for the command to pick up the rifle. It was the same type of rifle they had trained on in boot camp. He felt very comfortable with it. The simulated scene in front of him had silhouettes at varying distances, from a hundred yards to what appeared in the video desert to be five hundred yards.

“When I give the command, you attempt to hit the targets you see in front of you. You must strike all the targets to qualify as infantry. These are not smart rounds. You must be able to sight the weapon and fire it properly if you are going to hit any of the targets. You will be timed. The quicker you knock down all the targets, the higher your qualification. You will put your weapon down once you have knocked all of the silhouettes down. Any questions?”

No one said a word or moved.

“I say ‘attempt’ because no one in the other platoons qualified. Let’s see if you can do better.”

The sergeant waited a moment, as if he were trying to catch someone doing something they shouldn’t have been doing. “Squad, pick up your weapons.”

Dieter picked the weapon up. If felt good in his hands. It was exactly the same weight as the rail he’d trained with, and the sights appeared in good order.

“Ready on the right. Ready on the left. Ready on the firing line.”

Again the sergeant paused.

“Commence firing.”

Dieter put the rifle to his shoulder. The rifle felt good. He sighted on the closest target to test the sights. He fired it and struck the bullseye exactly where he had aimed. He proceeded through the targets out to five hundred yards. He missed once at five hundred yards, so he was not the first to finish, but he was close. Soon all of the squad was standing there, waiting.

“Goddamnit, what the fuck are you doing? I told you fucks not to put your weapons down until you've knocked all of the targets down!”

The sergeant stormed down the line, checking each member of the squad only to find out that everyone had knocked all of the silhouettes down.

“The fucking simulator must be malfunctioning.”

He strode down to the end of the line and pulled up a display to check the simulator.

“Uh, everything seems to be working. Uh, next squad.”

Dieter took a step back and led the first squad away. Ardan led the second squad into the simulator. They all qualified. Then Minga led the third squad into the booths. They all qualified. Striker stood there the whole time without saying a word, his arms folded. When the last of the third squad had finished, he asked the other sergeant, “How’d they do?”

The sergeant seemed confused.

“They broke the Von Fleet record for even regular units. I don’t understand. Who are these guys?”

“My platoon,” Striker said simply.

Next he led them to another compartment. This time platoons were standing around mats as pairs of men and women fought. There was much screaming and cheering as people won or lost. Striker led them to a mat with another platoon standing on the other side. The soldiers in the other platoon were uniformly much bigger than anyone in Dieter’s platoon, and they looked like real convicts—not debt conscripts. It looked like they had taken the worst of some prison and put them all in one platoon. After what Mati had put them through in boot camp, even these men and women did not scare Dieter. He was a Legionnaire, even if he didn’t carry the name.

“Hey, Striker, what have you got there, a bunch of office drones?”

Striker looked over at the other platoon sergeant. He was looking very smug.

“Listen up. This is to test your hand-to-hand combat skills. You will fight someone from the other platoon. You will stop when one of you can’t go on,” the other sergeant said with a mean smile.

Striker stared at the other platoon, his face impassive. Dieter and the rest of the platoon did not move or say a word.

“Who wants to go first?”

Dieter remembered what Ura had said the last night in boot camp. If there is a line for something difficult, be the first in line. He, Ardan, and Minga stepped forward.

Striker looked down at the three. “Why does this not surprise me?”

“I want that little bitch first. I have just the conscript for her!” the other sergeant bellowed.

Dieter looked and saw a hulking male with a shaved head. He had to be twice as big as Minga.

“I’ll do the choosing, Furlong!” Striker shouted. He turned and looked down at Minga.

“You want Fenes or Ardan to take this for you? He is twice your size.”

Minga smirked. “How bad can I hurt him?”

“You fight until one of you can’t go on. Just don’t kill him. You can put him in the infirmary.”

“I got this,” Minga said confidently.

Minga moved slowly toward the middle of the mat. The huge conscript was laughing as he stepped toward her.

“Well, well, little girl. Looks like I get to have some fun.”

He charged Minga, his huge arms swinging wildly. She easily ducked and stepped to the side so she could deliver a sharp snap kick to the side of his knee. He doubled over screaming, holding his leg, Minga spun and brought a roundhouse kick to the back of his head and he fell face down, unconscious.

“Don’t call me a bitch, you big fuck,” Minga said as she walked back to the platoon.

Dieter and the rest of the platoon roared with approval. Striker said nothing, but there was a change in his eyes. Real respect began appear at the edges.

“Okay, okay, Striker. Every platoon has a ringer and we have ours.”

Striker looked at Dieter and Ardan. “Who wants this one?”

Dieter and Ardan looked at each other.

“I got this one,” Dieter said.

“You sure?”

Ardan was the best at hand-to-hand in the platoon, but Dieter felt the need to establish himself. “No, I got this.”

Ardan glanced over at the conscript, who was now stepping on the mat.

“This one knows what he’s doing. Watch out for him. He looks quick,” Striker said.

Dieter nodded and stepped on the mat. The other conscript was Dieter’s size but much older. He moved easily, and his eyes were sizing Dieter up. Dieter decided to wait and counterstrike to get a sense of the skills the guy had. They circled a couple of times, then the other conscript made his move. He tried for a snap kick to Dieter’s head, but it wasn’t there. Dieter dodged the kick easily, but the snap kick had been a feint and the conscript used it to give himself momentum for a second kick. He just missed making solid contact, so the blow was a glancing one. Dieter saw stars, but it wasn’t the first time. He had faced Mati often enough to be able to take a blow and still fight on.

Just as he had been taught, he went with the force of the blow and rolled away from his opponent. The guy closed in, thinking he had Dieter. He went to stomp Dieter’s head, but Dieter caught his boot with both hands and swept his other leg. As he fell, Dieter rolled up and mounted him. Before his opponent could react, Dieter fell back, pulling his right arm straight. He wrapped a leg around his opponent’s head and hooked his foot under his knee. Leaning back and pulling the guys arm straight and squeezing with his legs, he cut off the blood supply to his opponent's brain, and the other conscript passed out. Dieter stood and walked back to the platoon.

As they were dragging his opponent away, Dieter glanced up at Striker and thought he saw the barest of smiles. Ardan went next. He put his opponent in the infirmary in thirty seconds. The other platoon called off the rest of the fights. The platoon qualified in hand-to-hand combat.

#

Striker led them through a maze of hastily constructed passageways to a small compartment. It had bunks from the deck to the ceiling so close together that the occupant would only be able to lie on their stomachs or their backs. On each bunk was a bag with the Von Fleet logo on it. Dieter filed in and went to the far bulkhead. The rest of the platoon followed until they were all crammed into the compartment.

“This is your quarters,” Striker said. “You will find on your bunks a bag containing more uniforms and personal gear. But before you begin digging into that shit, I want to know who you are. You all have obviously had some excellent training.”

The platoon looked at Dieter, but he stood there unsure of what to do. They had been told not to tell anyone what they were, but it was obvious they stood out because of their skills. He had never thought of that. He needed to think. What could he say and still not let their secret out?