There was already shooting by the time I woke up. The pops and snaps of distant musketry, our skirmishers probing the dig site, our pickets shooting at anything that poked their heads out on the paths. The feeling that things were deteriorating around us was already very present.
Not long after, the tents were torn down and barricades folded, and the 9th Company was clustered against the rocks at the rear of the camp, near the guns. It was still dark, but wouldn't be much longer, the edge of the horizon starting to take on a greenish hue as the sun diffused through the alien atmosphere. The artillery pieces were lined up and ready to be moved, the repulsors on the flying guns pulsing against the air gently, contrasted with the overlapping sound of the dreadnought wheels crashing into the wet mud as the wagons rolled past.
In the back of the nearest wagon, I noticed the form of Lieutenant Kennedy propped up against boxes, her aide (a particularly small Maria in a blue jacket) leaning close. She looked pale and a bit feeble, but conscious, and after a moment I decided to take a step forward to check on her.
"Diana, how are you?" I asked, and she waved down weakly. Her hand trembled awful, shaking like a leaf in the breeze.
"Oh, peachy. Most of my nervous system is just a little fried is all." she said weakly. "The doctors have me on some steroids and regenerators, I ought to be good within the week. Bit sore… my first proper engagement and they want me to take a nap..."
"We want you to rest, miss, you're lucky that's all the damage there was." her aide said, trying to pull a blanket over her. "You were very nearly paralyzed entirely, we need to get you to surgery on the transport."
"That's their stunners? I hadn't realized it was so awful." I said, wincing. What awful things.
"I don't know about stunners. More like torture rifles, you ask me." the aide said bitterly.
"Milly, it's not so bad…" she insisted, and her aide folded her arms sternly.
"Miss, it is that bad. Do you know how lucky you are your heart is still beating?" she said, "Now, you best do your best to relax, because it's the one damn thing I can't actually do for you."
Milly waved me away, and I beat a hasty retreat back toward Beckham and the ensigns. It was increasingly seeming like the aides actually did hold the real authority in this army.
As I approached the group, I noticed another figure being helped into the back of a wagon, this one much less gently. Sergeant Theda, hands still cuffed, was being pushed by the regimental provost into the wagon, and the moment she caught sight of me she stared daggers.
"Sergeant, why is she here? Why the hell wasn't she removed yesterday with the lighter?" I asked.
"Regulations. We don't transport civilian evacuees and prisoners on the same boat, ma'am." he explained, clipping her cuffs to a ring on the wagon floor. "It's a safety concern."
Theda just silently glared down her nose at me, and I made sure to ignore her as I moved back to my position. Fine, just a few more hours and she was out of my hair for good. I settled in place, suddenly a little self-conscious about the rifle still slung over my shoulder, still not sure what to do with it.
Just a few minutes later, the radio net started crackling. No voices at first, just an indication people were speaking in the net, but outside of the channels I had access to. That changed shortly thereafter.
"Heads up everyone. The stalkers have abandoned the dig site for now and pulled back to their main group. Didn't put up much of a fight at all, I suspect they didn't want to get caught out between us." Captain Teague radioed, "There's a half a dozen enemies down in the dig site, and nothing downriver as best we can tell."
The report ended, and the ensigns looked to me, anxious and confused.
"Why aren't they downriver? Couldn't they surround us if they did?" Sumner asked curiously. "Flank us on both sides?"
I glanced up the column: didn't look like we were moving yet. Time to turn this into a teaching moment.
"They could, sure. Might be smart of them, but it has its downsides too." I said, indicating down the hill as the ensigns gathered closer to listen. "They'll have to make sure they're spread out enough that we don't just hunker down at the base of the hill and engage them from there, right? They're no need for us to push out in the middle of their forces, and we have the advantage so long as we have the hill. They want us drawn out."
"Why is the hill such an advantage?" she asked, and I looked to Kelly.
"Um, it's hard to go up it?" he guessed.
"We'll be at the lower slopes, that's not it." I said, "Firstly, it means we can concentrate more fire on a shorter front. The Theos and Doras in the rear ranks will be standing above those in the front, so effectively, we will have more guns then them per file. That's the difference between raw and effective numerical advantage. As a rule of thumb, if the effective numerical advantage is 1.5 to 1 for a side, that side is going to win twice as often as it'll lose."
"Oh, the N-square law." Sumner said brightly.
"... sure." I said. I didn't know that had a name, it was just something I knew by absolute intuition. Same way you didn't need to know it was called gravity to understand that things fell to the earth when released. "The upshot is, to properly pull off that sort of crude pincer, their forces need to be far enough from the base of the hill that we must move from the defensive position in order to engage either one."
"Oh, I know this!" Kelly interjected. "Uh, it was that thing Lieutenant Beckham was talking about last week, um, zones of threat?"
"Exactly. They need to be outside our zone of threat from the base of the hill if they want to be able to attack freely, without being shot at while maneuvering and unable to effectively return fire. We consider that zone about five hundred yards around our troops, but they might not know that: if we were an American unit with rifles, our zone of threat would be larger, for instance. So they'd need to guess how far to spread out, and be cautious lest they be drawn into an unwise attack or be forced to withdraw under fire."
"And once they're spread out that far, they might have trouble communicating, right?" Sumner guessed.
"Exactly. Even if they have wirelesses, it's not the most reliable thing in the universe. Further, spread out that far, we could very well make a dash for one group, defeat them with a greater effective numerical advantage-"
"N-square law again!" she said.
"And then turn and face the other force. That is called defeat in detail, another way raw numbers matter less than effective numbers."
"So rather than mess with all that, they're all gathered together up the riverbed." Kelly summarized.
"Exactly. It's the safe choice if they aren't sure they can pull off something more complex. They are still able to deny us the whole riverbed that way, and if we want to fight them, we have to gather in one big clump and bash up against their big clump."
"But wait, isn't that what we're doing?" Sumner asked, "Isn't that playing into their hands? Or weird claws or whatever."
"Sure, but that's what strategy is, trying to cut down on the choices the other side can make and eliminate all the best ones. They've given us a choice between weathering a siege and making a break for it. The higher ups have decided that of those choices, making a break for it is the wiser play, because at least by being proactive, we start to limit the choices they have." I finished.
In the distance, I heard voices calling out over the soldier, and, curious, I climbed up onto the nearest wagon to try and get perspective down the hill, just in time to see the front of the column start to move, the grenadiers pushing down the path. Everything began to shift at once as I dropped back down, and Captain Murray came down from the front of the line.
"9th Company, supply and artillery detachment! Prepare to move, we'll be making a break straight for the dig site!" she called, walking toward us. "Miles, your section will form on our right, you're our mobile block. Dora, you stick close to the wagons and guns and watch downriver. They might be making us sit back, but we're not sitting it out. Be ready for anything."
---
By the time we were making it down the hill proper, the battle was already beginning to be joined out in the field. We could see its opening stages unfolding before us as the other companies spread out and began advancing up the river, flanked by the hill on their right and a short cliff worn by the river to the left. Our troops were in wide blocks, four ranks deep, ready for anything, and staying in close formation with one another. We didn't know if they had any kind of cavalry analog, so we had to be cautious.
The enemy, by contrast, were split. At their front were forms arrayed in curious lines, not quite shoulder to shoulder but in knots of three in small chevrons all along the front, long zig-zagging formations across the front. Behind were denser columns, and I guessed the chevron lines were meant to make it easy for the shooters to keep small cohesive groups as they shifted to let the assault troops through.
The moment we were clear of the final group moving out in the field, 9th company and the guns dashed at double march toward the dig site, hurrying to set up our guns. So tight was the confines of the riverbed that we didn't have space for the guns in the front, despite only six hundred men being present. It looked so much wider from a distance, but the distance concealed how steep the slope at either side was. It was a fight in a shoebox.
We were met at the dig site by a half-dozen skirmishers, most of whom were wounded in some way or another, guarding two downed machines and a half a dozen bodies. Their leader, a corporal with most of the bottom of his face missing as his speaker blown apart by some alien weapon, waved cheerfully as we approached and signed to indicate to the bodies, listing them as fallen defenders.
The dig site was a rectangular, angled slice in the hill with slopes both up and down river, and a curved berm of sorts just a few yards in front that I suspected was used to prevent the constant trickle of water from filling the sight up completely. It wasn't entirely effective, there was about a foot of muddy brown, brackish water at the bottom of the site, and it was here I first saw the gateway, embedded in the side of the pit, slowly being excavated. There was a metal ramp leading down into it, and it looked for all the world like a door frame, just one big enough that our wagons could fit through two abreast, made of a dark blue metal which, despite its clear age, somehow still shone with a strange luster.
"Get the wagons down into the pit, it'll keep them clear! Gunnery Sergeant, where are we putting the guns?" Captain Murray was yelling, and she indicated to the left rear corner of the pit. I gathered my section and we spread out, watching all directions, and I made double sure both our revolver cannons had good sight of the top of the cliff. If I were a skirmisher coming to harass our artillery, that'd be the perfect place to do it.
Out on the field, I heard the crackle of the first volleys being exchanged. I looked over to watch the battle progress, but all I could see was the backs of our troopers, the slowly advancing force screen wagon keeping pace, and shells bursting off the screen from some distant enemy artillery. Flashes up and down the line indicated fire being exchanged, and yellow-jacketed trauma mechanics were racing up and down behind the line to tend to the fallen soldiers that fell out of formation here and there.
My position set up, I went to check on the bodies of the fallen enemy. Beckham had the same idea, and was inspecting one of their firearms. It looked like a long triangular prism, made of a metal whose surface did not look much difference from the plates of their bodies, and in colour resembled the gateway. It had no visible trigger that I could see, and it ended in two thin slits instead of a barrel or lenses.
"Well, looks like we gave much better than we got, at least." Beckham said, staring down at the bodies. They all looked in a considerable state of destruction, between the laser damage and bayonet wounds, and none of them were entirely intact. "Say, is that doctor in one of the wagons? Fusie, get her up here, she should take a look."
I tried to call down into the pit, but I was drowned out the gravitic howitzers fired their first volley, arcing low over our formation toward the enemy. It was nearly blind fire, guided by an artillery sighter hovering above the battery on a repsulor horse, and evidently they fired long, as everyone scrambled to adjust. Sliding down the muddy slope, I found the doctor and signed for her to follow, then climbed back to the top of the pit, where Beckham was now scanning with a telescope.
"Looks like things have started proper, the grenadiers have just gone in." Beckham said, wincing. "I can't quite see what's going on. Want a look?"
I accepted the glass without comment. Ahead, I saw the enemy artillery fire a volley toward the advancing troops, clearly just trying to skim under the shield. They didn't quite make it: one shell burst against the envelope, the explosion scattered along the interplay of the fields. Another landing just beyond a unit, sending pieces of metal skipping along the ground like stones on a pond.
The final one found its mark just ahead of one of the advancing line of 7th Company. The blast uprooted the earth and I saw at least three machines blown off the feet by the intensity of it, but two of them got up soon after, dusting themselves off and hurrying to rejoin the line. The third was missing both legs below the knee, and I saw him wave off the trauma mechanic and lie back on the grass as if relaxing.
"Good time to take a nap." I muttered, turning the glass back to the lead of the fight. The enemy were pulling in their line a little, and a volley went out toward the grenadiers. It didn't even pierce the overlapping shields of the assault group as they thundered closer, and their first volley of high powered shots wreathed the battlefield in coolant smoke entirely. It was now just flashes and noise inside a cloud.
"They're pulling back, I think they're trying to expose our flank to the forest! Elenora, if you would, I'd appreciate a section up to shore the right flank." our wirelesses crackled, and the captain looked to both of us grimly.
"Beckham, gather A-section and come with me. Dora, hold the guns." she said, striding out as the guns fired once more, the sky lighting up as the light guns buzzed over the ranks and into the enemy. Beckham shot me a quick, mocking little salute and handed me his telescope.
"Welp, see you on the other side, Fusie." he said, then he began gathering his troops and they pushed out toward the flank in a tight knot. The sound of the battle had ceased to be individual, discrete entities, and had just become a sort of rumble, a wall of noise at all frequencies as weapons flashed.
I spent the next few minutes redressing the line as best I could, listening to the omnipresent noise of the battle. About a dozen downed machines were delivered to us by trauma mechanics, stacked in the munition wagon in place of roundshot and shrapnel shells that thundered low over the heads of the soldiers, but most of the wounded were instead delivered to the much closer wagons near the field projector. We had no way of knowing what was happening or who was winning, but the line was holding, so that was a good sign.
"Gunner, what's happening out there?" I called up to one of the observers for the flying guns. He glanced away from his telescope, shaking his head.
"They're just trading fire now, ma'am! They're losing, but they aren't running, we're having to wear them down!" he called. That… was always messy, as well as just disconcerting. Most of the time, when we fought leftovers and the like, once they started losing, they pulled back. But sometimes, they'd clearly lost their mind, or been programmed by somebody would loath the idea of retreat, and the enemy would just stand and keep shooting until the last of them was dead.
Strategically, it was wasteful and stupid, and it made for much shorter campaigns. But I'd been in the line in fights like that, it was always so disconcerting to see the ragged few tracked guns or spider-walkers close up their lines and keep shooting in vain, clawing over the bodies of their own dead to maintain the illusion of a formation. Or when they kept fighting on in melee even when they'd lost, forcing us to drag them down one by one.
I always hoped there wasn't any kind of real awareness behind those things. I did in all my battles, but especially at times like that, when we were just begging them to give up so we didn't have to destroy all of them. The alternative, that they knew it was hopeless but were compelled by programming to stand and die anyway, was just too horrible to contemplate. I'd never run from a fight and I doubt I ever would, but I could. There was no programming nailing my feet to the floor.
"Fucking hell. Poor bastards." I said, pocketing the glass. I wasn't sure who I was talking about. We could well have won this battle outright now, and it still might be hours before the last of them was dead. We'd be tied down here for stars know how long.
"Ensigns! Any signs of skirmishers along the top of the ridge yet, by any chance?" I called.
"We've thought we've seen some things moving, but they might just be animals. Nothing concrete yet." Kelly said, scanning along the clifftop. "Are we winning?"
"Seem to be. We outnumbered them, and it sounds like our weapons are better than theirs. Still, it's going to be a while yet. Get your aides to brew you some tea, I have a feeling we're going to be sitting here a while." I said. The corporals busied themselves with a boiling vessel, and Miriam, somehow still spotless, appeared at my side.
"I don't suppose I can get you anything, can I?" she asked.
"I don't think so. I hate that you're so close to the line." I said, glancing over. "You're not exactly made for it."
"It's a little closer than I like myself. At least I'm not with the volta wagon." she said, indicating out to the three wagons advancing slowly behind our line. The screen projector, the volta wagon powering it, and a third wagon where the non-combatants associated with the other companies were clustered, including the other officer's aides.
"You'd think, but they're safer than we are. The generator has a secondary field around it, and if something threatens the flanks they'd be safe in the middle as the regiment forms square. We're sitting all the way back here alone because the guns can't move up as effectively in such a closed battlefield."
"Fascinating." she said deadpan. "I think you've gotten too used to teaching the ensigns."
"... perhaps." I admitted.
Beckham's section pressed to the edge of the formation, and I watched as they fired a volley into the trees, the light bursting and leaving black smoke and flickering fire behind as their volley tore through the trees at the edge of the path. With the flank now guarded, the formation was moving ahead again in echelon, clearly trying to force the enemy away from the cliff and out.
"Lieutenant! There's something on the cliff top, there!" Kelly called, and I followed his fingertip up to the top of the cliff. I couldn't quite see it, but with Beckham's borrowed telescope I eventually spotted what looked like the crested heads of one of them staring over the edge of the cliff, partially covered by a bush. Watching.
"Don't like that. Let's dislodge him, shall we?" I proposed, heading to one of the revolver cannons. As I did, Kelly's aide, who'd just handed the ensign a canteen, indicated to me.
"Begging your pardon, ma'am, you could probably hit him with that rifle." he said, indicating to my shoulder. "Save our heat sinks."
"I haven't the foggiest clue how to use this thing." I said, unslinging it. "... do you, Corporal Rifleman?"
He beamed a moment.
"It's in the name, ma'am." he said, and I handed him the weapon and its ammunition brace, watching him curiously. He propped himself up at the edge of the ramp, resting the gun against the lip of the pit, and lined up carefully along the sighting block. He selected a plain silver needle from the belt and slotted it into a port at the weapon's stock, pulled back a charging handle of some sort, and very carefully swung it around as it began to hum in his hands. I put my telescope back up and checked on the scout, who it appears was now sweeping our position with a flat steel plate I presumed was their version of a looking glass.
"On your own time, Corporal." I ordered, and a moment later there was a sound a little like a block of steel being dropped on a wooden floor and a hiss of coolant. The stalker on the ridge dropped limp, the metal plate in its hand bursting apart in a shower of orange sparks.
"Well shot." I said, "Keep that on you and make sure we don't have any other scouts poking around."
I continued to watch the battle, trying to guess at our progress from the shifting of the blocks of machines, though not with much luck. At one point something struck one of our flying guns, a heavy purple beam of some description, and it crashed into the mud heavily as its repulsors failed. The gunner was dragged away as the gun began to burn, and the other two pieces descended to earth quickly and were pushed along to reposition them as their coolant rods (each four feet long and smoldering red hot) were changed out. Moments later, they rose back into the air and pulsed again, silencing whatever enemy weapon had struck them.
The whole while, I heard the occasional tonk of the needle rifle firing behind me. I swore it was growing more frequently as the battle drifted farther and farther away. They were almost a thousand yards further forward than when it began, and I could now see our line, a bit more ragged but still intact, stepping over blue bodies strewn out over the field. It wasn't a massacre by any means, but there certainly were quite a number of alien creatures just left where they fell.
Tonk.
"They're pulling back slightly, I think. Their left flank is falling apart." the gunner observer called down. He'd become my unofficial eye in the battle. "They're trying to redress their line for their reduced numbers. They're tough bastards, I'll give them that."
"As tough as us?" I asked.
"Maybe tougher. Takes a lot to put them down. 7th company looks rough." he replied. "I don't think we've had a battle this bad since Fomalhaut."
"Stars… it's not that bad, is it?"
Tonk.
"No… but it's not good." he replied. "The grenadiers just went in again, charging on the left. They're folding, they've got to be."
Tonk. Tonk.
"I hope so." I said, distracted. I glanced back toward the cliff just in time to see a body tumble down it, missing everything above the neck, Corporal Rifleman frantically reloading. I scanned the top of ridge, and noticed movement. A lot of movement.
"On the left! B-section, make ready!"
