'Victory with metal, glory through metal' - Motto of Meru's Marauders

  The dropship’s engines roared as it swooped in low.

  Jan gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes shut, willing his stomach to settle. Most of the others were doing the same. Two had given up the battle, their vomit swirled on the floor as the dropship jinked left and right to avoid ground fire.

  “Ten seconds,” said the pilot. Infuriatingly calm, her voice had the audacity to sound almost bored.

  His hands went down to check his kit out of reflex until he stopped himself. It was still there, like it had been the last five times he checked but nerves always made you forget that. Rifle and pack. Enough to sustain himself for seventy two hours even though he could be dead in the first minute.

  Nine.

  He had an unremarkable service record. Conscription and then he’d taken the option to go regular. Stockholm syndrome had kept him in the infantry though he’d felt like he’d been selling his soul when they made his unit mechanised. A couple of big ops and quite a few smaller ones. He was going to make a career out of it until the armistice.

  Eight.

  Out of work like thousands of other young men and women, he’d taken his skills to the private sector. There weren’t many directly applicable skills in the civilian sector for someone whose recent career had focused on killing other humans.

  Seven.

  He wasn’t the only one. The economy was collapsing back home and out of work soldiers were hardly in short supply. His family hadn’t been happy but friends and old comrades had understood. He’d been a week from shipping out to Balaton when the call came.

  Six.

  The job was different. Five years ago he’d been fighting against Dacian guerrillas, now he was part of a combined assault with them. From rebel to regime, now they were experiencing the fun of fighting an opponent who didn’t have to play by the rules.

  Five.

  Dacia’s economy depended heavily on fuel production. Helium-3 from the offworld mining facilities and deuterium from the refineries on its colonies. Colonies like Corinth. The kelp farming was just an added bonus. Capturing the plants hit them where it hurt, right in the pocket.

  Four.

  The refineries being taken turned it from a domestic affair to an interplanetary matter. Dacia was popular as a stopover point with merchants taking advantage of the abundantly cheap fuel to restock before heading coreward. There weren’t many other attractions for a starfarer and war was a turn off for any sensible minded spacer. The real game changer was the corporate interests who suddenly saw their profits dwindling.

  Three.

  An aerial assault on a refinery in support of a seaborne landing. Lunacy in his eyes but he hadn’t planned it. A Dacian battlegroup steaming ashore while a mercenary platoon landed with a company to cause havoc behind the beach defences. No mechs, no power armour, just a few antiquated tanks with the landing force.

  Two.

  It was a downgrade in rank. He was back to being a section commander rather than leading a full platoon. The platoon commander had led a battalion back in the fun times. It was probably the roughest group he’d ever dropped with but experience didn’t make you immune to bullets or shrapnel.

  One.

  The dropship screeched, braking hard and dropping into a low hover. The sudden deceleration was painful. Jan waited another half second for the motion to stop before he hit the release catch on the seat straps.

  Jan grabbed his rifle and stormed off the rear ramp, dropping a few feet to the ground. “Push forward, fan out” he said, shouting above the engine roar. The rest of his section were already off, the reserves coming with the platoon sergeant and everyone’s packs.

  He could barely see anything through the smoke and dust. He switched vision mode, the markers for the rest of the platoon flashing up. No threats for at least a couple of hundred metres. The mercenaries fired anytime they had a target, most of the Corinthians seemed to be running for cover.

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  The crewman on the ramp gave a thumbs and his platoon commander flashed it back. The dropship began to lift back up, weapons still blasting away. Lasers flashed and chainguns whined as they lashed out. The dropship’s side armaments swept left and right, discouraging any overly enthusiastic defender from venturing too close.

  “Zero to all elements, Red Tape. Out”

  Section one took the lead. He brought his section in behind them. Ahead of them a gunship made another strafing run. Most of the Corinthian fire was going skyward, ignorant for the moment of the mass of infantry storming towards them. The Dacians ahead were all going firm, throwing themselves down behind a sand berm and refusing to move.

  It was impossible to move fast in the armour. Jan shuffled and felt his lungs start to burn in the first hundred metres. It was a relief to collapse against the berm and cough out an order “What’s happening?”.

  His gun team was already setting up. Most premier units had made the swap to lasers. Higher maintenance but far more elegant. This had been a rush job, they were toting a light machine gun with them. His 2ic Pawel turned and jabbed forward with his hand.

  “Bunker! Section one is going to rush it, they’ve stalled the Dacians”. A quick look confirmed it. The construction was sandbags and logs but it spouted tracer lines of fire that swept towards the attacking mercenaries. Most of the local troops had gone to ground at the first bit of overhead fire. Most of their contribution was restricted to blindly firing into the smoke and cover. Jan swore.

  “Kurwa! Right, alpha, bravo, on the berm lets go!”. The riflemen clambered up on the obstacle and started to fire. A moment later the LMG joined in, rattling off as the gunner spaced out bursts.

  “We’re fucked if we don’t get them moving” Pawel said. Jan didn’t disagree. It was quiet now but the Corinthians weren’t going to appreciate a couple of hundred infanteers calling in to say hi. He hauled himself up on the lip of the berm, anxious now that the others were going in. Smoke popped off from a grenade and then their sister section was charging over the berm, their own LMG blazing full auto at the enemy post.

  Slaughter. Jan was firing his own rifle now but an explosion whited out his vision for a second. It cleared to show the bunker in ruins, a gunship turning away to prepare for another run. A cheer went up from the Dacians. Section one were moving in to grenade the remains. A fireteam peeled off to sweep a trench.

  “Fucks sake, get moving, get moving!”. Alicja had been in the top three of her command and staff course but now she was putting career NCOs to shame as she kicked, screamed, and threatened indigenous forces into moving. Along the line some of the better Dacian commanders were doing the same, managing to get something like momentum into the conscripts.

  She was passing Jan’s section so he called her. “Ala, what are we doing, the refinery is south east”. She shook her head and pointed directly south. “It’s going to shit at sea. We sweep there first”.

  She didn’t wait to discuss it, just jogged on to her position behind section one. Jan reloaded his rifle, Pawel already had the section ready to move. Not for the first time he cursed the lack of access to the command net. Alicja was getting a view of the whole operation.

  The mercenaries forged ahead, the Dacians were slowed by a mix of looting and natural reluctance to close with the enemy. Jan pushed his section on. It was quieter now, the odd shot but everything seemed to be happening ahead. “Where the fuck are all the bad guys?” Pawel said as he dropped back.

  “Not sure but I feel like Ala knows” Jan said, jerking his head in her direction. They were coming near the edge of the dunes now. He could hear section one’s LMG rattling off and their corporal, Tibor, was crouched down in a discussion with the platoon commander.

  She didn’t even wave him in, just jabbed at the dune. Tibor was running back to his section too. Jan ran up the dune, feet slipping in the soft sand. “Get the MG there!” he said, pointing at a depression on the crest.

  The opposite side of the dune dropped steeply towards the beach. The edge of the bay curved away from them. Down on the far end were flashes of laser and gunfire from the Corinthian garrison. Here there heavier weapons boomed as they sent autocannon and antitank fire at the attackers.

  Out struggling at sea were the two barges the Dacians had commandeered for the landing. The first had run aground on a reef. It was wedged solid, sporadic rifle fire from its side showing a few of the crew still lived. The landing ramp was down and an optimistic tank commander had driven his vehicle into the surf where it now sat half swamped. Clusters of Dacians were trying to swim in, those who couldn't were drowning fast.

  The other barge had made it to the shoreline but the lone line of bodies leading from it showed how withering the Corinthian defence was. One of the tanks was smoking and it took another rocket hit as he watched. Most of the Dacians were doing their best to bury themselves in the sand or crouching amidst the wrecks of burnt out vehicles. A section of armoured infantry slogged through the surf but disintegrated at the impact of a high velocity shell.

  A second tank was rumbling forward, tracks struggling in the soft sand. “Watch it Paw, sappers, sappers!” Jan was frantic now as he watched a half dozen figures rise from the sand and rush the vehicle. Pawel’s gunner swung his aim left and the line of fire tore through them. He traversed back the opposite direction, smooth controlled bursts to discourage any other enthusiastic tank killer. Incredibly one made it through, sprinting with renewed vigour.

  “Get him, get him!” they were all firing at him now. The ragged rifle fire cut him down and the satchel charge went off ten metres short. The tank crew would never be luckier.

  Jan’s tactical net flashed red and Alicja spammed the platoon net. “Incoming!” Everyone scattered diving for cover, no one wanted to be caught in the open now. The mortars started to shriek down and he closed his eyes as the first explosion went off.