Mark “Coop” Cooper

Location: Unnamed Planet, Contested System, Unaligned Space

{S . . . S . . . Sitrep,} static crackled over Coop’s IOR.

It’s a weird sensation having static in your brain; like someone hit one too many times in the head. People would joke Coop didn’t have the proper equipment to be dazed and confused like this; but all kidding aside, he was in some deep shit.

The mountain had just come down on the seven squads moving in on the enemy’s position. It had hit them fast, hard, and was unexpected. Both human and AI’s had failed to see the Confed’s plan before they sprung it, and that wasn’t a good sign. Competent enemies had a better chance of making Coop dead, and he didn’t like that.

Thankfully, he was the baddest motherfucker on this planet, and that wasn’t going to happen to him.

With a groan of metal and will, Coop pushed. Rocks shifted, dust poofed, and his M1 MOUNT rose above the chaos. With a mental command, nanites sprang out to take inventory, and he ran diagnostics. It was better than he expected. The directional shields had held under the tons of rocks the mountain dumped on his head. Still, the nanites had plenty of work to do. There was more than enough dust and pebbles that got through the panes of force. The nanites swarmed the sensors, looking for damage, and mostly cleaning debris that was blocking them from their full capabilities.

And not a moment too soon . . . “Incoming!” someone yelled.

His swatter spun up and started pumping out rounds as the Confeds tried to take advantage of the trap they’d sprung. Just so it didn’t happen again, Coop extended the parameters of his swatters’ range. When Confed rounds tried to duplicate their trick, his guns brought those shells down. Of course, there was a downside. The farther the extended range, the more ammunition he had to expend to bring down rounds that wouldn’t directly hurt the grunts.

The competent Confed commander knew this, and he was saturating the area; hoping to deplete Coop’s ammo and cripple the Commonwealth’s initiative. Three squads against seven was much better odds if you have those seven squads buried alive.

“Sergeant, get your ass up here,” he sent over the channel reserved for the MOUNTs. He didn’t care the LT wanted the other MOUNT as a mobile reserve. “And maybe send something their way to keep their heads down.”

A chirp was the only response Coop got. The loud whumf of heavy artillery going downrange was music to his ears. Coop counted five rounds heading toward the enemy position when the mortar fire cut off.

“We need to move!” the LT’s voice wasn’t as panicked as it could be, but it was definitely rattled. Nearly getting buried alive would do that to a man.

Coop kept the thought to himself.

“We’ll cover you,” he sent back, and then linked up with the SGT’s fire support net.

Data populated his vision; everything a man would need to rain down fire on an enemy position kilometers away. He was about to launch his own shell to keep the Confeds occupied, when a loud crack echoed through the peaks. Behind him, a shield sparked, failed, and a man went down.

“Sniper!” more people shouted.

a flicker of professional respect was all Coop had time to give the enemy commander before more mortar started to scream in.

The Confed had them trapped in a kill zone, too far to maximize the use of their superior numbers, and limiting the Commonwealth return fire to a pair of MOUNTs. The grunts couldn’t move without exposing themselves to sniper fire, and whatever the snipers were packing, it was strong enough to make it through the squad shield. The only ones who stood a change on unfucking this clusterfuck were Coop and the SGT. Since the SGT was busy trying to kill the enemy, and taking over swatter duties; Coop had to find the snipers and kill them before the Confed commander sent in the finishing blow.

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At least, that’s what Coop would do. If he could fix the enemy in position long enough, and maneuver a solid force into a superior fighting position, it wouldn’t matter if there were a thousand men assaulting the Confeds. They could hold the mountain pass and kill a lot of Commonwealth soldiers.

he grit his teeth as his AI ran back azimuths, and his sensors scanned for the enemy.

Whoever the snipers were, they were damned good, or they had some damned good cammo-netting. He couldn’t see shit until . . . he got lucky and spotted a fresh shot. It cost the life of soldier, but he made it count.

“Enough of this shit,” he cursed, raised his forearm and aimed.

The next-gen magnetic accelerator on his forearm was underpowered compared to the old MOUNT, but in this case, that was a good thing. There was a high-pitched whine as it powered up. Maybe the sniper knew he’d been spotted, because there was sudden movement as they ran like hell. The problem was, you couldn’t run from what was basically the fist of god.

He remembered to brace, because you only needed to learn that lesson once, but the back blast knocked the nearest squad on their ass. Whoever the sniper was, it would take a DNA analyzer to figure out. The accelerator’s round smashed into the mountain, followed by a thunderclap, and a small earthquake. Even Coop had trouble keeping his feet.

“On the right!” the LT yelled as rocks tumbled back down toward the men.

Coop wasn’t a complete moron. He’d hit the mountain at the best angle he could, so he didn’t bury the grunts under another avalanche of stone. It was good, not perfect, but it didn’t take long to get those affected back on their feet.

That was around the time the mortars stopped coming in, and if the Confed commander had been moving a force in, his intelligence made him think twice, as Coop quickly ascended the slope to take the high ground. The SGT followed behind him, and together they made sure the Commonwealth soldiers had enough time to get their feet under them, and get back moving.

Coop grumbled as they trudged forward. With his chief’s access, he saw several black health icons.

Their were already 4 KIA, 8 WIA, and Coop was sure Captain Berg would somehow find a way to blame him for everything.

***

Benjamin Gold

Location: CCIWS Stakeholder’s Views, Contested System, Unaligned Space

AI had to take the long way to join the Confed task force that had jumped into the system. In a perfect universe, the brass back on Aurum would have dispatched a couple of battleships, and escort vessels, to beat back the Collies disregard for intergalactic norms. So, of course, that isn’t what happened. Still, as A1 drifted into the rear of the advancing formation, it could be a lot worse.

“Three battlecruisers, two destroyers, and us,” tactical stated for the tenth time.

Like most of the Confederation’s ships, they were either from the task forces that broke off from the Commonwealth fleet, or brand new. The force sent to help was a mixed bag. All the destroyers were new builds to the same specifications as A1; as was one of the battlecruisers. The other two were older models that had been around for a few decades, but had spent serious time in the yards to upgrade them.

That was going to make the difference between a fair fight and getting their ass kicked. Despite six-to-one odds, the battleship was still a threat.

“Sir, we’ve got a request for you to join the other captains,” the communications officer relayed.

“I’ll take it in my quarters,” Ben replied, and marched off the bridge.

This was going to be a war room, and disagreements on tactics and strategy among the senior officers was something the rest of the crew shouldn’t see. Ben logged in with his IOR and used the QE tech built into all Confed ships to join an encrypted meeting with the other five men in charge of thousands of lives.

Ben thought, the former would increase the likelihood of defeat, the latter, victory.

Two minutes into the briefing, Ben breathed a sigh of relief. The Commodore in charge of the ships was a no-nonsense woman who’d captained a battleship in the Commonwealth fleet before siding with the Confederation. She’d also spent a lot of time war-gamming a fight with the Collies. Despite thinking about a fight, she didn’t seem urgent to get in one. She’d sent communication requests to the Collies and offered to let them withdraw with their honor still intact. So far, no response.

She also had a battleplan. The Confed forces would split into two groups; one pair of battlecruisers, and the remaining battlecruiser and destroyers would take different approach vectors and assault the battleship simultaneously. This would limit their ability to manipulate their shields while allowing a depth of defense to the Confed forces. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was better than anything Ben had come up with.

This wasn’t A1’s brawl with Red Tides. The Confed forces would assault the flanks, try to harry the larger Commonwealth warship like a pod of dolphins taking on a much large shark. People would still die on both sides, and even if they emerged victorious, they still had to deal with the Collie troops that were undoubtedly trying to dig out the marines Ben had left behind.

All in all, this could go either way, and there was nothing a skipper hated more than a fair fight.