Christopher Nuttall - Picking Up the Pieces

I sighed, but I knew better than to argue. “I understand,” I said. I seemed to be saying that a lot lately, rather than simply barking orders. Was it just me, or did everyone have a death wish these days? “You’ll have command of the spaceport then; if we lose, move the remainder of the defenders up to space and then… and then do whatever seems best.”

“Yes, sir,” Muna said. “Take care.”

The line disconnected. I took one final look around my office, remembering the plans we’d developed and the times I’d had with Suki — wherever she was now — and then pulled on my battledress and body armour. I always hated wearing the UN-issue gear, but there was little choice now. I checked my webbing and made certain that I had enough ammunition for my pistol and assault rifle and then stepped out of the office. Peter was waiting for me there, carrying his own rifle and enough ammunition to fight the war on his own.

“Ready, sir?”

“Yes,” I said, allowing him to lead me out of the command bunker. “Let’s move.”

The spaceport seemed emptier, somehow, now that most of the defenders had gone to join the defence line at New Copenhagen. The helicopter remaining on the pad was the only one left at the spaceport, an assault helicopter waiting for two final passengers — myself and Peter. We climbed onboard, took one last look around the spaceport, and gave the pilot the ok. The helicopter launched itself down the runway and staggered into the air, the pilot watching closely for signs of enemy antiaircraft teams waiting for us in the shadows. Nothing rose from the ground to challenge us, or to attempt to impede us, allowing the helicopter to fly west without any problems.

I leaned forward to peer over the pilot’s shoulder towards New Copenhagen. The city seemed oddly peaceful compared to the Communist Insurgency; there were only a handful of burning buildings and most of them were definitely under control by the fire brigade. The city seemed prepared for the final battle, which was more than could be said for me, or my men. I’d have preferred to have several more years to prepare, to raise more troops and get the new farms producing food… but I’d given the enemy no choice. They had to attack before we broke the farmer food monopoly and used it as leverage to win the war.

Peter looked over at me as the helicopter swooped down towards the command post, north of the city. I could barely see it from the air. Even a Fleet-issue orbiting observation system would have problems locating it. “Credit for your thoughts, sir?”

“My thoughts are a Decicredit apiece,” I said, but the joke fell flat. The anticipation of battle was concentrating minds wonderfully. “I was thinking that if we win today, we win everything, but if we lose, we lose everything as well.”

Peter smiled. “That’s what comes of being a Captain-General,” he said, dryly. I laughed dryly at his words. “I just take each day as it comes and worry about the future when it happens.”

I shrugged as I stepped out of the helicopter. In the distance, the guns were already starting to pound. The final battle had begun.

The enemy had made one mistake, I realised as I took my position in the command post; they’d mistimed their arrival so that the William Tell was high overhead. They might have suspected — the Freedom League definitely would have suspected — that we had a link to the destroyer and a live feed from her sensors, but they had been delayed enough to fail to reach New Copenhagen before the destroyer returned to a position from which it could observe their arrival. The enemy force — at least the armoured units and self-propelled guns — were clear on my display.

“Open fire as soon as they come into range,” I ordered, contacting our own long-range guns. We didn’t have as heavy an artillery section as I would have liked, but at least we now had locals trained on the heavy guns, allowing me to pull back my own people to their original units. “Use the live feed from the UAV” — officially, we were getting the information from an orbiting UAV with strictly limited protocols — “to adjust fire for effect.”

I heard the sound of the heavy guns booming in the distance, answered seconds later by the enemy guns as they fired back at their opponents. The telemetry from the destroyer suggested that they’d mounted lasers on trucks as well, using them to detonate shells well short of their target, making it harder to hammer them into dust. Without them, we would have smashed their force with artillery long before they reached the city. We were using lasers as well, but at least we had our forces dug in and ready to withstand a bombardment.

“Target their laser units with units A to D,” I ordered, knowing that it might be futile. The enemy would have assigned self-protection as their lasers highest priority. They’d be foolish not to do so, but if we spread out our fire to force them to divide their attention, it was quite likely that we’d get a few shells through their defences. It was a shame that we didn’t have self-guiding shells, but the UN had always considered them too expensive to purchase for anything other than the direst need. “Warn the first line to stand ready to repel attack.”

The enemy weren’t waiting for their shells to batter us down. Their commander had evidently come to the same conclusion that I had, or perhaps he — or she — believed that a long siege worked in our favour. Their infantry were advancing under cover of rockets launched from a UN MLRS towards our lines, forcing our men to duck and cover before scrambling into position to return fire. The display kept updating as both sides targeted each other, one trying to break through the lines, the other trying to keep them back.

“They’re running into the minefield,” Robert observed, from his position. I’d thought that he’d be taking command of B Company, but we’d decided to hold B Company and most of the tanks in reserve. If we broke the enemy advance, we could use them to drive the enemy from the field. “I wonder if it will slow them down…”

I watched as the enemy infantry fell back in shock and dismay, and then the MLRS opened fire again, rocketing the entire area and detonating the mines. I had to admire the solution, although it wouldn’t have worked perfectly against a properly-laid minefield. There are minefields on Heinlein and countless other worlds that are still deadly to anyone unfortunate enough to walk across them. The locals had been clearing the minefields for years and they were still dangerous. This time, as the enemy advanced, they encountered less resistance.

“The 3 rdis falling back to the secondary lines,” Jock’s voice said, through my earpiece. “I request permission to wreck havoc on the enemy lines.”

“Go for it,” I said, flatly. Jock and the remainder of the Specials had been sent into the area between our lines and the enemy, hopefully hidden from all, even the orbiting destroyer. He’d had plans to hit the enemy from the rear, but I wasn’t sure how well they would work out with the enemy on alert. “Kick their butts.”

The sound of firing grew louder as the enemy infantry advanced on the secondary line. This time, my infantry called in artillery fire on their enemies, summoning mortars and short-ranged guns to bombard the advancing soldiers, who were ripped apart by the incoming fire. A handful set up their own mortars and returned fire, but they couldn’t bring enough fire to bear on our positions to force us to fall back again. I was tempted to send the reserves forward to add to the 3 rd’s strength, but I held them back on impulse. I had the feeling that I was going to need them.