Chapter 2
Sword and Shield – A History of Psionic Warfare by Phyllis Ackerman 2043
It is estimated that over 700 million people died in the first year of the invasion. Most died from what could be called traditional reasons, but a substantial number were victims of a new type of warfare, psionic warfare.
Operation Silent Hammer situation report 2 – October 17, 2046
Second and fifth centuries of 212th cohort currently engaging XT landing force in Archangel. Confirm landers as three Shrike class troop transports. Enemy forces consist solely of infantry units with no mechanized combat support units.
Archangel Russia – October 18, 2046
The particle beam hissed through the air, narrowly missing its intended target and blasted a basketball-sized hole in the ruins of the building behind him.
“Damn,” said the man who had been the intended target as he ducked behind the ruins of the wall he was using as cover. The bolt had been close enough he could smell the ozone it created passing through the air despite his helmet’s air filters. “Any closer and my head would be rolling along the floor singing ‘I ain’t got no body.'”
“Off-key no doubt,” said the man crouched behind him, holding a grenade launcher. “You ready, Dutch?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. You sure you know which way to point that thing?”
“Hey, no problem. I saw Nitro fire it once.”
Dutch snorted in amusement. “You were probably watching his ass rather than the launcher.”
“I’m a married man. Only ass I watch anymore is Contessa’s. Whenever you’re ready.”
Dutch checked the charge indicator on his rifle, then ejected the magazine and inserted a new one. He was running short on rocket-assisted rounds, and conventional ones would do for this maneuver. He poked his head around the wall, fired a burst at the building the particle beam emanated from, and ducked for cover.
Another beam passed through Dutch’s prior firing position, but this time the ‘whoomp’ of the grenade launcher followed the hiss of the beam. An instant later, an explosion erupted from the building, followed by secondary explosions.
“Yes!” exclaimed Dutch. “Nice shooting, Havoc.”
A pair of child-sized creatures scuttled from the building heading towards a pile of rubble. Dutch fired at them only to have a pair of particle beams fired back.
“Shit,” he muttered as he ducked back behind the wall.
“Dutch,” a feminine voice came over the intra-squad radio channel. “We’ve got movement on our left. I see two, no three bugs trying to flank us. And Havoc, your mike was open. I heard that comment about my ass. My ass better be the only one you’re watching.”
Damn, thought Dutch. They were receiving more than enough fire from the front. Getting flanked was the last thing they needed. “Mark them,” he said. “Havoc will drop some rounds on then.”
An instant later, three red icons appeared on Dutch’s heads-up display as Contessa painted the bugs with her laser range finder, and the device relayed the targeting information to Dutch and Havoc.
“No good Dutch,” said Havoc. “Damn bugs must have read the manual on this thing. They’re just out of range.”
“You got ’em, Witchy?” asked Dutch.
“I’m on it,” came another feminine voice from the radio. Three shots rang out in rapid succession, followed by an impassioned “God damn it,” then another shot.
“One get away from you?” asked Havoc.
“Worse. I owe Contessa twenty euros. I bet her I could take out all three bugs with three shots.”
A flicker of movement by the pile of rubble caught Dutch’s eye. He loosed a quick shot at the flicker and was rewarded with a loud scream. He couldn’t tell if it was a scream of pain or rage, but no return fire followed.
A fusillade of assault rifle fire intermixed with the heavier sound of a cohort infantry support weapon, and the boom of a grenade launcher came from his left. Some XTs must have stumbled into Bullseye’s position.
Bullseye’s voice came over the inter-squad radio channel. “Scratch four dogs.”
The heads up display on Dutch’s helmet visor flickered into life, showing the icon of a friendly aircraft, a light reconnaissance drone. The rotary cannon the drone carried wasn’t powerful enough to destroy the enemy position, but it gave them something to shoot at other than Dutch and his troops.
A stream of tracers looking like a river of fire washed over the XT position as the drone’s controller strafed the enemy. The drone ceased firing but remained in position. Dutch made a mental note to buy the controller a drink if he ever met him or her. Even if an XT didn’t reveal itself, the presence of the aircraft would help keep the enemy pinned down.
A pair of small XTs emerged from cover and ran back toward the building the XTs were using. Havoc fired a quick two shots from his assault rifle, and one XT fell. The other took a few more strides then collapsed, its body convulsing like a slug dropped in salt.
“Mind lash, Contessa?” asked Dutch. “That’s cruel.”
“It tried one first,” said Contessa.
The inter-squad radio in Dutch’s helmet squawked into life. The icon on his visor indicated the caller was Twigit, the number two woman of the squad on his right. “Ata says she’s sending Jackknife your way with ammo for your squad assault weapon, Dutch. She also says next time unload your Bad Dog before you let it get shot up.”
“I’ll be sure to tell the XTs that. Tell Jackknife we’ll be waiting for him, and I’ll buy him a drink when we get back to base.”
“Just one? We’re talking about Jackknife, not my Aunt Tilly.”
A shape crossed a window in the enemy-occupied building, and Dutch fired a pair of shots at it intending more to keep the XT from shooting at him than actually expecting to hit it.
Dutch’s helmet radio crackled again. The caller was Atalanta, Twigit’s squad leader. “Dutch, the centurion just contacted me. She says two Raptors are inbound.”
“Thanks, Ata. It’s about time those flyboys gave us a little close air support. What’s their ETA?”
“Three minutes.”
Three minutes and fifteen seconds later, the aircraft appeared overhead. Seven seconds later, the first bomb landed. On Dutch’s position.