John Ringo: Eye of the Storm

“Thank you, Feldwebel,” Hagai said, looking at the small twists of dough wrapped around a filling. “I think I will just hold onto it. Now… is not the right time.”

“Whatever,” Ginsburg said. “Don’t go crying on me. I can’t stand men who cry. The next thing you know they’re listening to emo music and then they might as well get an earring and move in with their best friend from school.”

“Yes, Feldwebel,” Hagai said, grinning. “I will attempt to refrain from crying.”

“What the hell is that?” Frederick said as he clambered over Three Track to get to his.

Additional equipment had been moved into the bay since they were loaded and, in fact, where there had once been an open area was now a continuation of the platform also filled with equipment. The driver was unsure how in the hell they were going to get the tank out of the bay. Certainly they were going to have to wait for the entire rest of the brigade to get out of their way.

But the oddest part was that, somehow, someone had gotten a big platform installed under their tank. It looked like an aluminum loading pallet, but large enough to take the entire vehicle.

“That, my fine yellow-shit, is a P-5297 loading platform,” Harz said, climbing up onto the turret and squeezing into the hatch. He had to duck and crawl because the overhead was just barely enough for the cupola to raise to full extent. “And on the rear of the platform, if you had time to look, you would find an M-3698 field generator.”

“Thank you for the information, Feldwebel,” Frederick said. He recalled the conversation with Hagai about the devices — since he’d been in hibernation it was more or less yesterday — but hadn’t had time since to think about it.

“Get in, get your shit secured and dog your hatch,” Harz said. “There’s a pressure check coming up. They’re going to evacuate the whole ship to unload us this time.”

“Very good, Feldwebel,” Frederick said, scrambling in quickly and setting his gear in place. There was no room in the driver’s compartment, but he managed to slip in the few items he’d chosen to take with him for the initial landing. There was an issue sleeping bag, which fortunately was very small, a small amount of ‘comfort food,’ a spare pair of socks and a picture of Marta. Even those few items squeezed the space uncomfortably. He might have to ditch the socks.

He dogged his hatch and did a pressure check. His ears popped as the pressure in the compartment climbed and he worked his jaw to clear them.

“Seals are nominal, Feldwebel,” Frederick said.

“God help anyone’s whose aren’t,” was all the tank commander said.

“Track Three, Seal Check.”

“Nominal,” Harz replied.

“Track Three Seal Check Nominal, acknowledged.”

“Ten vehicles with bad seals,” 1A reported. “The Indowy are on it. They report ten minutes, maximum.”

“Very good,” Muehlenkampf said. “The Kobolds have saved this operation. Tell the commodore we will be prepared in ten minutes maximum. Order all vehicles to remain closed up.”

“We’re to stay closed up,” Harz said.

“What is this bullshit?” Adler said. “We only have so much air.”

“The scrubbers are good for a full day,” the Feldwebel replied. “There is plenty of time. And it is an order so that is enough.”

“Seals are all repaired,” 1A reported. “Visuals confirm that all vehicles have remained buttoned up.”

“Commodore Winston,” Muehlenkampf said, keying his microphone. “This is Vaterland Commander.”

“Go Vaterland Commander.”

“Vehicles are ready for EVA. Give me five minutes.”

“Roger. Emergence in five.”

“Stand by for retrans from Generalmajor Muehlenkampf.”

“Here goes,” Harz said, a grin in his voice.

“What goes?” Adler asked.

“My Brethren. Due to enemy spies it was necessary to keep all of you uninformed of the true nature of our mission. In less than five minutes this task group will emerge in the orbit of the Hedren held world of Daga Nine. These assault transports will then open up and spill out the finest soldiers in the known universe. Following a bombardment we shall drop upon the enemy from orbit and take their transmission system, preventing them from striking deeper into Federation territory and in this way protecting the Fatherland. It is possible, even likely, that our forces shall be scattered in re-entry. As your fathers and grandfathers before you did, move to the sound of the guns. Close with the enemy in your panzers and combat vehicles. Give them no mercy. Teach to those who would endanger the Fatherland that there is no force more fearsome in the universe than the Panzer leaders on the move.

“Today we strike like lightning from the hammer of Thor. For the Fatherland.”

“Oh, he has got to be joking,” Adler whispered.

“He’s not,” Harz said, a grin in his voice. “But I bet there are very many people peeing themselves right now.”

“You knew about this,” Frederick said. “That was why you asked me about the platforms and the field generator.”

“The platforms have repulsion systems on them,” Harz said. “They have also been modified with a ribbon chute. We will drop very fast but the repulsion system will stop us instantaneously with contact with the ground. It has been tested. The ACS used them for resupply from orbit during the War. It will work.”

“And the field generator?” Frederick asked.

“It is going to get very hot on the way down,” Harz said. “The field generator will only prevent us from being burned up from reentry. It’s still going to be hot.”

The Marro sensor technician knew his duty. His duty was to curl in place and carefully watch his sensor readings. And he did his duty. Day in and boring day out. There was no real possibility of attack. A task-force of battleships covered the approaches and he would have long warning of any attackers. But duty was duty and any disregard of duty might come to the attention of the Imeg.

It was, however, very boring. He didn’t know how many times he’d wished that something, anything would happen to relieve the bore…

His eyes were fixed open with thin membranes shielding them from dehydration. Despite that, he would have blinked if he could have. Because what just a moment before was a very empty screen was now filled with icons. One, two, three, four… Nine ships!

It took him a moment to process any of the information. And then his first reaction was to run a diagnostic. By the time the short diagnostic was finished there were more symbols popping up. Thousands of them. There were more than a dozen ships in orbit and now it showed thousands of ground strike fighters being disgorged. And now there were icons of incoming kinetic weapons. Big ones. But the diagnostic said that the system wasn’t suffering some sort of malfunction. That meant…

He couldn’t move his tentacle fast enough to hit the alarm button.

The bombardment ship GFS Mound had rarely been used in the War. Even the task force that relieved earth hadn’t needed its services. One of the first Posleen planets that had been retaken had received its attention. The Posleen had not enjoyed the experience and the Hedren were about to find out why.

The Mound was, in reality, nothing but a highly modified bulk freighter such as had originally been used to move forces between planets. Nearly a kilometer long and with cavernous holds the modifications involved ways to move stuff out of its holds and onto certain courses, very fast, as well as binary, tunnel and Ley-line, FTL engines. Its ship-to-ship weapons were pop-guns but it could toss out a bunch of kinetic energy weapons. They didn’t go out very fast, but when you’re firing in a gravity well, it doesn’t really matter. Especially since it was punching out fifteen KEWs the size of a train engine every second . Secondary guns were, in the meantime, firing smaller KEWs at the rate of several thousand per second.